


Five Powers Peter Used to Impress Sam Winchester

by ktnb



Category: Heroes - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-11
Updated: 2007-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktnb/pseuds/ktnb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After rescuing Sam during a hunt, Peter finds himself being investigated by the Winchesters, and discovers that he and Sam might have more in common than either of them realized.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

If anyone had asked Peter, before he met the Winchesters, if he believed in the supernatural, he wouldn't have hesitated in saying no. In retrospect, it seemed kind of crazy for the invincible guy who could fly and move things with his mind to say there were no such things as ghosts. But the idea that all the myths and stories he'd read as a kid were true didn't sit well with Peter, nor did the thought that there could be some sort of invisible spirits watching over him all the time. At least Claude slept sometimes when he wasn't sneaking around behind Peter's back.

And really, Peter already had enough trouble continuing to have faith in all the things he already believed in, like his supposed destiny, and Nathan's strength, and just Nathan in general. Mohinder kept telling him he needed to stop thinking about Nathan so much, and focus on his own life. After spending 30-plus years doing nothing _but_ thinking about Nathan, Peter wasn't entirely certain he could just stop. But providing himself with distractions was working well enough to appease Mohinder, and his current distraction was proving to be...well, more distracting than normal. Because it wasn't every day that Peter met people like the Winchesters.

He'd been painting more and more lately, using Isaac's power as much as he could to try to hone and perfect it. Every once in a while, among the paintings of the people Peter already knew, there would be paintings of people he'd never seen before. Sometimes they'd appear to be in very simple, everyday situations, but most of the time, the paintings showed them in trouble. Despite growing arguments from Claire, Peter had taken it upon himself to be the one to help as many of these people as he could. They wouldn't be appearing in his pictures if he wasn't supposed to do anything, he said, and just because he and Nathan had saved the world once, it didn't mean it would be safe forever.

Which was why, thanks to a little help from Molly Walker, Peter was doing the invisible thing as he wandered around the backyard of a home in the New York suburbs, waiting patiently for the two guys he'd painted earlier in the day. It was dark outside, with only a sliver of moon visible, and the snowy early January weather wasn't making this experience all that pleasant. He was about to call Claire and ask if maybe, somehow, Molly had picked the wrong place, when he heard hushed voices coming from the side of the house. 

The first voice was distinctly male. "Now, you're sure this was the first place you saw them?" 

"Uh-huh," came the response, from someone much younger-sounding, and female. "I was by my mom's bird feeder. I thought they were really pretty birds."

"I bet that's what a lot of people would have thought," said a different man, and Peter could only assume these were the two men he was looking for. "Now, you remember what we talked about?"

As the three of them rounded the corner of the house, Peter could see the young girl nod to the shorter of the two guys. "I have to call them, and when they show up, then I run in the house and lock the door." 

"That's right. Very good," the guy said, giving the girl a warm, broad smile. 

Peter fell into step behind them, following the three of them as they headed to the edge of the backyard. The house had been built at the top of a hill, and while the yard had a nice, gentle slope to it, the edge of the backyard led right up to a three hundred yard drop that was sudden enough to make Peter wonder why these people had never invested in a fence. He was expecting the men to stay with the little girl, but instead, she went to stand in front of the bird feeder, while the guys crouched down behind some nearby bushes, hiding from sight.

Somewhere between watching the little girl start whispering to the bird feeder, and seeing the men pull out lighters and aerosol hairspray bottles, Peter realized he was witnessing something very far removed from what he'd expected to see. The appearance of twinkling lights around the bird feeder was sudden, and Peter might have almost mistaken them for fireflies, if it weren't for the fact that the creatures were five times the size of normal flies, and bright pink. 

After that, things happened faster than Peter could really process them. The little girl did as she'd been told, and ran back to the house, slamming the door shut behind her, while the men came out of their hiding spot, makeshift flamethrowers at the ready, and started aiming their firepower at the pink flies. The flies scattered, most of them circling around the two men while three others flew towards the house, seemingly going after the little girl. It wasn't until the flies were right in front of him that Peter realized they weren't after the girl - they were coming towards him. He expected his invisibility to protect him until the flies clearly saw through it and flew at his chest, knocking him completely off his feet, ass over teakettle as Mohinder would have said, so that he landed face down in the grass, gasping for breath to recover from having the wind knocked out of him.

The flies that had circled around the men were slowly dying, careening out of the flames with a screeching noise before falling to the ground, their pink lights giving one last twinkle before going out completely. The ones that had attacked Peter flew down to his face, and when they got close enough, he saw that they weren't flies at all, but tiny pink human-looking things with wings as big as their bodies, who were gazing at him like they were considering whether or not he was a threat like the others. Peter wondered exactly how hard he'd hit his head when he'd landed, but he didn't get a chance to take a closer look before the flies left him alone, and flew back towards the two men.

Peter didn't have the breath to yell out a warning, for all the good it would have done with him being so far away, and all he could do was watch as the men finished off the flies that were around them, oblivious to the three that were left. The flies shot at the taller man, hitting his side and knocking him off balance as they had with Peter. But when the man fell, he was too close to the edge of the yard, and Peter watched in horror as he slipped on the cold, wet ground, and fell out of sight. The other man yelled, blasted the flies with his fire, and didn't even wait for them to hit the ground before he dropped what he was holding and ran to where his partner had fallen.

By the time Peter managed to get up and jump down past the yard's edge, he found himself face-to-face with the real life version of his painting: Sam Winchester, looking terrified as he clung to a branch on the side of the hill, while Dean Winchester tried to pull him back to safety.

"It's okay Sammy, just hold on, I've got you," Dean said quickly, his words running together as he stretched to try to reach down for Sam.

Sam was almost deathly still, staring at where the end of the branch he was holding onto was slowly loosening from the soil. "Dean," he said softly. "Dean, I'm going to fall."

Dean's reply was sharp as he stretched down further. "No you're not! Just hold on a little longer, okay?" He managed to grab Sam's left wrist, and was just about to reach the right one when the soil gave way, releasing the branch, and Sam along with it. Sam slipped, letting out a scream that was matched only by Dean's, and Peter finally snapped himself out of just watching and, after making sure he was still invisible, flew to a spot underneath Sam, willing himself to hold on to both powers as he put his hands under Sam's feet to hold him steady.

"The hell?" Sam said, gazing down in surprise. "I think I hit something."

"What? What did you hit?" Dean asked.

"I don't know. I can't see anything

Dean sighed and made another grab for Sam. "Screw it. Just give me your other hand."

From where Peter was positioned, he could see that Sam had fallen a little after Dean managed to grab his wrist, and his grip on Sam was slipping. It only took a moment of debating with himself for Peter to realize what he was going to have to do to help. Allowing himself to have just a hint of a thought about Niki, Peter pushed Sam up, raising him enough for Dean to grab hold of both of his arms, and pull him back to safe ground. 

"Dude, don't you ever do that again," Dean said, panting so hard that his breath was visible in the winter air. 

Sam opened his mouth as if to respond, and then closed it again before crawling over to the ground's edge, and peering down. 

Thanks to Peter's recent practicing, he'd managed to reach the point where he could usually control two of his powers at once. But three powers was still too much for him, which was why when Sam looked down, he found Peter looking up, his invisibility having faded when Niki's strength kicked in. 

"Oh my god," Sam said. "There really was something pushing me back up."

Peter had been hoping to avoid an awkward moment of actually talking to the two of them, but he didn't think he had much of a choice now, so he flew back up and landed on the grass, unable to keep from smirking as Sam scrambled back to sit beside Dean. He stopped smirking though, when Dean reached under his coat and pulled out a gun, aiming it towards Peter.

"Whoa, hey," Peter said, putting his hands up defensively. It wasn't that he was afraid of the gun, but if they were as weirded out by the flying as he thought they were, he didn't want to think about what the two of them would do if they shot him, and he got right back up. "That's a really unique way of saying thank you."

Dean didn't seem in any way amused by Peter's comment. "Who are you?"

"My name's Peter," he said, leaving it at that for now.

"Okay Peter," Dean said, tightening his grip on his gun. "Would you mind explaining why you just tried to kill my brother?"

"Hey, that's not what he did." Sam broke his gaze away from Peter just long enough to glance at Dean. "I just told you, he pushed me up to you. What I want to know is how the hell he did that."

Despite the fact that Peter had just watched the two of them destroy a pack of pink fairy-looking things, he wasn't sure if they'd understand him if he tried to explain his powers. He'd long since learned that normal people rarely understood. "It's kind of a long story," he said. "And I have a hard time telling stories when I have a gun pointed at me."

"How about you try telling the truth?" Dean said, and anything he was going to add was cut off by the ringing of Peter's cell phone. 

He reached down to his coat pocket, but stopped when Dean tensed and pointed the gun a little lower. "It's my niece," he said. "She's calling to make sure we're all okay." Before Dean could protest, he grabbed his phone and flipped it open. "Hello?" Peter said, smiling softly at how relieved Claire sounded to hear his voice. "Yeah, I'm good. We all are, like I told you we would be. We're just...going through some explanations now. Yes, I know I need to practice more. Look, can you save this lecture for later, 'cause I'm kind of in the middle of something here. Yeah, I love you too. Bye." 

Peter snapped the phone shut, and turned back to Sam and Dean, who were looking at him with even more curiosity now. "Sorry about that. You know how girls are," he said, glancing back and forth between the two of them. "Maybe." He took a step back from them, and this time, when Dean raised his gun, Peter held up his hand again. "Look, I'd love to stay and explain everything, but I don't have time, and honestly, I don't think you'd believe me anyway." He flicked his wrist and pulled the gun out of Dean's grasp, letting it hover for a moment before making it fall to the ground. "Do you want to shoot me instead?" he asked Sam, who thankfully just nodded mutely in response. "Good. I'm going to go now, and you two just...try to stay on flat land, okay?" 

He smiled at the two of them, and as he bent down before flying off, he could have sworn he heard Sam say, "Thank you."


	2. Chapter 2

Sam stared out the window, watching the mile markers on the highway go by as he and Dean headed from their motel in the middle of suburb nowhere into Manhattan.

"He saved my life," he said, for what felt like the hundredth time.

"I know he did," Dean said, "but that doesn't mean there isn't still the possibility that he's evil."

"Are you even listening to yourself? Why would he have gone through all of that trouble to help me - to help us - if he was evil?"

"I don't know," Dean snapped. "Maybe he's got some sort of plan, and he needs you to be alive later, or he's saving you because someone else wants you dead more. All I know is he fucking flew, and that's just not right."

Sam shot Dean a dirty look. "Oh, but visions and mind control and super strength, that's all totally normal, right?"

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam and sighed before focusing back on the road. "You know what I mean. There's weird powers, and then there's wrong powers that no person should have."

"Would you feel that way if it wasn't flying?" Sam asked with a smirk.

"If we find a clown costume in his closet, will you believe he's evil then?" Dean shot back.

Sam grumbled softly, but didn't respond otherwise, reaching for the map, and the slip of paper with Peter Petrelli's address freshly printed from the New York State DMV computer system. 

"We'll be there in about half an hour," Dean said, showing off his uncanny ability to answer questions before Sam had even asked them. "Man, I hate driving in big cities. I hate leaving my car alone in big cities. I swear, if anyone hurts my car while we're talking to this guy--"

"No one's going to hurt the car, Dean," Sam interrupted. He looked down at the map, a thick red marker line signifying the path they were currently taking to Peter's apartment. Somehow, it was easier than looking at Dean at the moment. "Don't you think this is a waste of time? I mean, there are demons out there possessing people left and right and you...you're not safe yet," he said carefully. 

Dean barely glanced at Sam as he turned and guided the car down the appropriate exit ramp. "You didn't seem to think it was a waste of time when you were breaking into the DMV to find his record."

"I wanted to make sure he had a record," Sam said. "Now we at least know he's human."

"Yeah, a human with multiple abilities. He's got Jake's strength, and some sort of invisibility and the flying, at least. The only people we've come across with multiple abilities are the ones who've already gone dark side."

"And me," Sam pointed out quietly, finally looking at his brother. 

"You moved a cabinet once. That doesn't count," Dean said. "Have you been able to do any telekinesis since? Even when you wanted to?" When Sam shook his head, Dean continued. "You got a little ability bleed-through because we were dealing with Max. It doesn't count. But this guy does count, and that makes talking to him not a waste of time. And if you weren't so worried about me, you wouldn't think it was a waste of time either. You're supposed to be the ultra-cynical one, not me."

Sam set the map down with a little more force than necessary as his annoyance flared. "I think I have every right to be worried."

"Yeah, well, maybe you should focus that worry on something else for the time being. Like figuring out how we're going to get into this guy's apartment."

Sam knew when Dean considered a conversation to be over, and they had clearly reached that point now. He stayed silent for the rest of the drive, and by the time they pulled up to Peter's apartment complex and found a place to park the Impala, Sam was staying quiet because he was doing as Dean asked, thinking about all of the options they had to get inside without being caught. He and Dean had both agreed from the start that knocking on the door and asking to come in wouldn't work. They needed the element of surprise in order to ensure that they could make Peter talk to them, and explain himself. 

Sam tucked his gun into the back of his pants, put his switchblade into his pocket, and found himself hoping that he wouldn't have to use either one. Dean was right about one thing: he usually was the more skeptical one out of the two of them when it came to their encounters with people with powers. He'd immediately assumed the worst of Andy Gallagher, and of Max Miller, although he hadn't exactly been wrong in Max's case. But he couldn't bring himself to do the same with Peter. He was more curious than anything else, about how Peter had so many powers, about whether or not he'd met the demon, about how he'd found him and Dean, and about why Peter had saved his life. He didn't have the normal anger and fear that he was used to feeling when they came across someone else with abilities, and Sam wasn't sure if that was because the demon was dead - his biggest threat, finally taken care of - or if it was because Peter really wasn't evil, and Sam's sixth sense about people could tell that before they'd ever really talked to the guy.

When Dean finished getting all of his supplies, he shut the trunk with a creak that brought Sam out of his thoughts. "You ready?" he asked. 

Sam nodded, and followed his brother's lead inside, creeping up the steps as quietly as he could muster. When they reached the door to Peter's apartment, they both put their heads against it, and listened carefully for any sounds of movement inside. It was almost three in the morning, so he should have been long since slumbering as far as Sam was concerned. He gave Dean a signal to let him know he hadn't heard anything, and Dean responded in kind, moving out of the way so Sam could lean down and begin picking the lock.

The apartment was pitch black and silent as Sam and Dean slipped past the door, shutting it as quietly as possible behind them. Sam took the lead as they moved out of the foyer area, towards the bedroom, and he couldn't hide his confusion when he realized the bed was empty. He glanced at Dean, looking to see if he had an idea, and had barely moved to signal him again when he heard a voice from behind them. 

"Looking for me?"

It seemed to Sam like everything happened in flashes - the lights were flipped on, he and Dean turned around, he reached for his gun, and suddenly they were in a standoff against Peter and a young blonde girl, both of whom were also holding guns. Peter dropped his gun to his side as soon as he saw them, but the girl held on, going back and forth between pointing her gun at each of them.

"What the hell are you guys doing here?" Peter asked.

The girl took her focus off of Dean long enough to glance at Peter. "You know them?" 

"Yeah." Peter said. "Claire, put the gun down, it's okay."

"It's not okay!" Claire exclaimed, holding the gun a little tighter at the command. "They broke in here with guns!"

Dean smirked at Claire. "If you don't like guns, maybe you should put yours down."

"Yeah, I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" she snapped.

"Look, maybe you should listen to your friend here and drop the gun. You're not going to shoot us."

"Why not? Because I'm too cute and innocent to handle a gun?"

"No," Dean said, motioning slightly with his head. "Because you left the safety on."

Claire took a quick glance at the gun and swore soundly, finally dropping the gun to her side. "I really do suck with these things."

"You don't suck with guns. At least, not much," Peter said, giving her a light pat on the back. "Claire, these are the guys from the painting."

"Seriously?" She glanced between Sam and Dean like she was seeing them for the first time. "Okay, we have got to get you some kind of art lessons, because they look way sketchier in real life."

"We're not sketchy," Dean said, sounding offended.

"Dean, shut up," Sam said, before meeting Peter's eyes and giving him a defensive look before tucking his gun back into the back of his pants. "We don't want to shoot you. We're just looking for some answers." He glanced at Dean, and put his hand on his arm. "Put the gun down, it's not going to help."

Claire glared at the two of them and crossed her arms over her chest. "You have no idea how right you are about that." 

When Dean looked like he was about to question that, Sam moved towards him and forcefully pushed his arm. "Dean, just let it go." Dean groaned reluctantly, but finally dropped his gun. 

"That's better," Peter remarked. "So, you have questions?"

"Yes," Sam said, before Dean could answer and say something more obnoxious, and less helpful.

"Good, because I have some questions too. You guys want some coffee?" Peter offered. "It's kind of late."

Sam shrugged at Dean, and they both nodded. Peter led the way into the kitchen, leaving Sam and Dean to sit down at the table while Peter started making the coffee, and dealt with fierce, angry whispers from Claire about letting the two of them stay.

"You know, we're sitting right here," Dean said. "And we're not deaf."

Claire shot Dean a dirty look, before glaring at Peter again, like this was entirely his fault.

"So, how exactly did you find out where I live?" Peter asked.

"Well, you're not exactly an inconspicuous figure," Sam said, and he eyed Peter with curiosity when he saw him tense up a little. "You know, with your brother being a Congressman and all."

"What do you know about Nathan?" Claire said, turning on them.

Sam exchanged a look with Dean, and saw that he was just as confused as Sam was. This wasn't the kind of reception they were used to getting if and when they got caught - who sat back and made coffee for two guys who broke into their apartment? - and he wasn't sure why mentions of Nathan Petrelli were getting such strong reactions out of Peter and Claire. "Uh, we don't know much," he said. "There was a newspaper article that said he just got back from spending some time with his family after the election, and the article had pictures of him and his wife, and a shot of him with Peter and their mother. That's where we recognized you from."

"I didn't know they printed my address in the newspaper," Peter remarked, grabbing some mugs from the nearest cabinet.

"They didn't. But once you have someone's name, it's easy enough to find an address for them, if you know where to look."

Peter turned a little, and gave Sam a genuine smile. "And you know where to look, huh?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty good at that sort of thing," Sam said, and he found himself matching Peter's grin.

Claire rolled her eyes at Peter, and filled two of the mugs with coffee, before picking them up, going over to the table, and setting them down in front of Dean and Sam. "Be careful. These are crappy mugs, and Peter makes his coffee way too hot, so don't touch the outside for a few minutes."

"Thanks, but I think we'll be okay," Dean said, rolling his eyes at Claire. The mugs had no handles, so he grabbed the one in front of him around the middle, like Claire had, and Sam watched as Dean immediately pulled his hand away with a gasp of pain. Laying the back of his hand carefully along the side of his own mug, Sam felt that the thin ceramic was nearly scalding. 

"Told you it was hot," Claire said, without bothering to turn around from the mug she was fixing for herself. When she sat down, she put the mug down, and held her hand up for Sam and Dean to see. Her skin was bright pink and clearly burnt, but only for a few seconds, and then the color faded without a trace.

"Of course you have a special power too," Dean said sarcastically. "'Cause God knows we're not dealing with enough of them here."

"You can heal yourself." Sam felt things finally falling into place about Claire's earlier lack of concern over having a gun pointed at her. "Does that work with injuries bigger than light burns?"

Claire gave Sam a surprisingly smug look, almost like she was proud of him for piecing things together. "You mean like gunshot wounds? Yeah, I've had a couple of those. But I always bounce back after a few minutes."

"Is that your only ability?" Sam asked, trying to keep his tone casual. "I'm just assuming because most of the people we've met only have one."

"Wait, you've met other people like us?" Claire said. She looked genuinely interested in the two of them now, no longer quite as worried as she'd seemed before. "It sounds like you've met a lot of them."

"Not a lot. But we've come across a fair number." Sam gave her a hint of a smile. "The two of you aren't alone."

"Well, we knew that already. We're just not really used to people who don't have abilities being aware of us," Peter said, joining them at the table. "Unless you guys--?"

"No," Sam said quickly, ignoring the look Dean was giving him. "We don't have any kind of powers. We just know people who do, some of whom are very dangerous."

"And you think we might be dangerous?" Peter asked.

"No, we think _you_ might be dangerous," Dean said, looking directly at Peter.

"Peter isn't dangerous," Claire said, and if looks could kill, Dean would be dead twice over from the glare she was giving him.

Peter sighed. "Claire, you--"

"No, shut up. You are not dangerous. These guys don't know what they're talking about."

"Yes, we do," Sam insisted, and he sighed, knowing they were going to have to get a little more honest with Peter and Claire if they were going to get honesty in return.. "Look, Dean and I, we're hunters. Not the deer-killing kind or anything," he added quickly. "We hunt things that are supernatural, like ghosts, and vengeful spirits, and demons."

Claire stared at the two of them for a moment before turning to Peter. "Oh my god. They're crazy. You saved crazy people.'

"We're not crazy," Dean said sharply. "Look, there's a world of evil things out there that you don't even know about, and it's thanks to people like us who save the asses of people like you when you do encounter these things that the whole world doesn't know about what goes on."

"They're telling the truth," Peter said. "I saw what the two of you were doing before Sam fell. What the hell were those flying pink things? They looked like...I don't know, fairy tale fairies."

"That's because they were fairies," Sam said. "But they're not like they are in fairy tales. Fairies are possessive, completely and totally possessive. When they latch on to a human, they'll do everything in their power to get rid of anyone who might be a threat to the person. They latched on to the girl who lived in that house, and followed her, all day and all night. When she got teased at school--well, if you were watching us, then you saw what they did when they shoved me. Imagine that kind of force on a fourth grader."

"Is the kid all right?"

"Yeah, thank goodness. The fairies actually got a couple of kids before we got to town - that's what drew us onto the case in the first place, the news reports about the kids, all of whom claimed they'd been attacked by some strange kind of flying bug. We did a little snooping, found a connection between all of the injured kids in that girl, and when we asked her about it, she came clean about the fairies. Then it was just a matter of destroying the nest."

"Which, as you saw, could have gone a lot smoother," Dean added dryly.

"It went fine in the end," Sam said.

"'It went fine?' You nearly died!"

Sam didn't need to hear Dean add _again_ to the end of that sentence to know that he was thinking it.

"Does that happen a lot?" Peter asked, sounding like he was trying to interrupt the two of them before a fight broke out. "The nearly dying thing, I mean."

"No," Dean said, at the same time as Sam said, "Sometimes." Dying was the last thing Sam wanted to talk about at the moment, and a quick glance at Dean confirmed that it wasn't exactly a topic he wanted to get into either. "Look, my point is, we deal with weird things every day - like people with abilities. We've run into some people who could do things, and they turned out to be really nice, and not dangerous at all." He glanced at Claire when he said that, feeling almost certain that she'd fit into that category, before turning to Peter. "But the thing is, _everyone_ we've ever met who's had multiple powers has had some kind of dealing with a demon in order to tap into the extra abilities, and they've _all_ used those abilities to hurt people...and sometimes to kill too."

"Peter would never kill anyone!" Claire yelled, shooting up out of her chair.

Peter grabbed her shirt and pulled to try to get her to sit down."Claire, calm down."

"No, I will not calm down! Do you hear what they're saying?" She turned on Sam and Dean, glaring at them violently. "You don't know _anything_ about Peter. He would never, ever kill anyone. He saved my life, and he almost died doing it! If he didn't have my ability, he would have died! That's what he does, he saves people." Claire fixed her gaze on Sam. "Do you think it was a fluke that he just happened to be flying around while you guys were dealing with your fairies? You were going to die. You were going to fall, and you were going to die, but Peter saved you because that's what he does, and now you're sitting here saying you think he's a murderer. How can you do that?" 

There was a long, awkward pause while Claire looked back and forth between the two of them, and as a guilty feeling washed over Sam, he realized that hadn't been a rhetorical question. "We were just going with what we knew from past experience," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"You should be," Claire said, and Sam recognized the look Peter gave her as one of adoration. "Now you know enough to know that Peter's not a danger to anyone. So are we done here?"

"Not quite," Dean said, putting his hand up to stop Claire when she looked like she was going to argue again. "We still need to know about your abilities, if only for our own information later."

Claire stayed still for a few moments, before rolling her eyes and sitting back down. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Well, first of all, when did your abilities start?" Sam asked. "About two and a half years ago?"

Peter and Claire both shook their heads. "No, it hasn't even been a year yet."

"Are you guys--how old are you?"

"Peter's in his thirties, and I'm 18," Claire said.

Peter gave her an amused look. "You're 17."

"Oh shut up, I'm close enough to 18 to say that I am."

"You are not!"

As Peter and Claire began to bicker, Sam took the opportunity to exchange a look with Dean. He could tell that his brother was probably thinking the same thing he was, that nothing about these two matched the situations of any of the previous people with abilities that they'd met.

"What about the other people you know?" Sam asked, interrupting their playful arguing. "You said you've met other people with abilities. Did they all start out at the same time as you?"

"Not all of them, no," Peter said. "We know some people whose abilities showed up around the same time as ours, and a few who have only recently broken out. Now that I think about it, most of the people we know had abilities before we did. I mean, the previous generation's had their powers for decades now."

"And my mom's had her power since I was a baby," Claire added.

"Your mother has an ability?" Sam asked, latching on to what seemed like the most important part of what they'd just said.

"Well, yeah," Claire said, sounding surprised by the question. "The abilities are genetic, so they're hereditary. Most of us have parents with abilities, didn't you know that?"

Sam shook his head. "No actually, we didn't. That's never come up before." _Because this is something completely different_ , he realized. "So, your parents have powers too?" he asked Peter.

Peter looked uncomfortable at the question, his expression tinged with a mix of sadness and anger, but that didn't stop him from answering. "I don't think my dad had any sort of ability. He died right around the time all of this started, so I never had a chance to ask. As for my mother, I think maybe she has some kind of power. But I haven't talked to her in three months," he explained, "and I don't plan on talking to her again anytime soon to ask."

The way Peter talked about his mother reminded Sam of how he used to sound when he talked about his dad, and he had to wonder what had happened to make Peter feel that way about her. "Is there anyone else who has multiple abilities like you do?" he asked, figuring that a slight change of topic might be in order. And really, that was the question that all the others led up to, as far as Sam was concerned.

Peter and Claire exchanged a look of silent communication that was on par with what Sam and Dean were capable of, before Peter said, "I don't have multiple abilities, technically." It wasn't an answer to his question, and Sam knew that, but it was close enough to what he and Dean wanted to know that he wasn't going to interrupt. "I'm empathic, in a way. If I meet someone with an ability, even if it's only for a few minutes, I can mimic their power later. It used to be I had to be in the same place as the other person to use the power again, but now, all I have to do is think about them."

"So, the flying, the strength--those are all the powers of other people you've met?" Dean said.

"Yeah. I don't just make up whatever power I want; I have to be around someone and copy them before I can do what they do. And I still haven't mastered using more than one ability at a time very well. I've managed to get up to two, but anything past that and it all goes to hell. For the time being, at least. I'm working on getting better control every day."

Dean stared at Peter and Claire for a minute, before turning to Sam. "Dude, this is so not our gig, it's not even funny."

"Yeah, I'm going to have to agree with Dean," Sam admitted. "I'm starting to think that what we're involved in and what you're involved in are two entirely separate things. I'm really sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Peter said. "And don't be so sure that you're not involved with us. I wouldn't have painted the two of you if we weren't supposed to meet."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked. 

"Painting the future," Peter said simply. "It's one of the other powers I've got. I paint people who are in trouble, who I'm supposed to save. Like Sam."

When Sam looked over at Dean, he found his brother already looking at him, giving him a signal of _We need more information about this_ , and Sam definitely had to agree as he glanced back to Peter. "We want to see this painting."


	3. Chapter 3

Isaac Mendez's apartment had become a sort of unofficial base of operations for Peter, Claire, and their friends over the last few months. It was rare for the place to be empty for more than a few days at a time, so Peter was glad that no one else was around when he and Claire brought Sam and Dean to see Peter's paintings. Claire led the way, grabbing Dean by the arm, and practically dragged him down the steps into the studio, with Sam following closely behind. 

Many of Isaac's older paintings were in the back, both the ones he'd been working on when he was killed, and older ones that had been "liberated" from Linderman's collection. But the center of the studio was where Peter worked, and where his finished products were stored. It was easy to tell his first efforts from his most recent ones, simply due to the quality of the work. Just because Peter could see the future when he painted, it didn't mean he could convey it as clearly on canvas, but no matter what Claire said, he knew he was getting better. So much better, in fact, that there was no mistaking who was in the painting that Claire was currently showing Dean and Sam.

"See, there you are," she said, pointing to the light-haired figure standing at the yard's edge, "and there's Sam."

"Geez, you were right. We do look sketchier in person," Dean said, laughing. 

Sam seemed too transfixed by the painting to laugh. "You made this?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "The morning it happened. I wasn't trying to paint anything specific." He couldn't resist smirking at Sam. "I always get more interesting results when I do it that way."

"But, how did you find us from this?" Sam asked, seemingly searching the painting for his answer. "I mean, there's nothing specific in the painting to show where we are." He paused before adding, "Or is that one of your other abilities?"

Peter's smirk grew into a full-fledged smile at how quickly Sam was learning. "That is, in fact, the power of a friend of ours. But we generally let her be the one to use it, even though I can mimic it. It makes her feel helpful."

"Molly's littler than most of the rest of us," Claire said. "So it makes her feel really important when she can help us find people."

"What does she do?" Dean asked. 

"If she thinks about someone, she can pinpoint their position on a map, right down to the street number," Peter explained. 

"Dude, how awesome would that be?" Dean asked, nudging Sam as if that would knock a similar reaction out of him, but Sam remained totally occupied by the painting. 

Claire looked back and forth between Dean and Sam, and then grabbed Dean's arm again, pulling him towards the back of the studio. "Do you want to see some of the older paintings? I can show you Isaac's work, and maybe fill you in on a bit of what's been going on here lately."

"Sure," Dean said, and Peter couldn't tell if his interest was piqued more by the paintings, or by Claire. Her charm seemed to work on everyone these days, and his desire to keep her safe meant he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Claire looked back over her shoulder at Peter as she dragged Dean off, nodding towards Sam and winking at him. 

She really was too interested in his love life sometimes.

Sam was too fascinated by the other paintings to notice the wink, and Peter was too fascinated by Sam to deny that he wasn't completely bothered that Claire had run out of sight with his brother. "I'm sorry if we're kind of overwhelming you," he said. "We just want to make sure you understand that we're not bad people. We want to make the world safe just as much as you and Dean do."

"Yeah, I think you've kind of sold me on that," Sam said, cracking a smile in Peter's direction. "So, all of these paintings are of things that happened after they were painted?"

Peter nodded. "Yup. Some were events in the near future, and some--" He trailed off, motioning to the painting of Hiro facing off against a dinosaur with his sword. "Isaac painted that before he was killed, and it still hasn't happened yet."

Sam turned, and for the first time since they'd come into the studio, Peter had his full attention. "What happened to him? You and Claire mentioned that he'd died, but you didn't say he'd been killed."

Peter hesitated for a minute, trying to figure out how to explain things without scaring Sam too much. It was only fair, he supposed, since he was certain Claire would broach this subject with Dean as well. "Not everyone we know who has powers uses them to try to help people," he said. "There was this guy, named Sylar. That wasn't actually his real name, it was just an alias, but he--he was like me, in a way. He was able to copy people's powers. But in order to do it, he had to kill them."

"Why?" Sam asked. "And that doesn't sound like you, for the record."

"Thanks," Peter said, smiling for just a moment. "He did something with their brain. No one's been able to figure out exactly what he did with the brains, and honestly, I everyone just wants to stay in the dark about it for the sake of their own sanities. But when he was done, he was able to do whatever his victim could do. Isaac was one of the ones he killed."

"I'm sorry," Sam said, sounding genuinely sympathetic. "From the way you're talking about him in the past tense, I assume he's no longer a problem?"

Peter grinned. "No, he was taken care of, by the guy with the sword."

Sam glanced back towards the painting of Hiro again and laughed. "Hopefully it'll work on that T-Rex as well." He gazed at the paintings for a few moments longer in silence, before asking, "What you paint isn't completely random, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you said you painted me and Dean when you weren't trying to paint anything specific. Does that mean you _can_ paint something specific if you want to?"

Peter smirked, having fully expected this conversation to occur at some point, although he'd thought that Dean would be the one doing the asking. "Yes, I can get more specific with the paintings. What is it you want to see?"

"Oh, I don't want you to paint anything for me," Sam said quickly, and Peter could almost see him trying to backtrack. "I was just wondering. It's okay."

"You're right, it is okay," Peter said, before moving to stand beside Sam. "If you want me to try to paint something, I can. Worst case, I'll screw up and end up with a painting that has nothing to do with what you're looking for. But there's no harm in that. I swear." Sam still looked a little worried, so Peter reached over and put his hand on Sam's arm, hoping physical reassurance might help. 

"It's not right, knowing the future if it isn't a life or death situation," Sam said, and he suddenly seemed unable to look at the paintings any longer, focusing in the direction in which Claire and Dean disappeared instead. 

"How do you know?" Peter asked teasingly. "Have you ever tried to see the future?"

The look Sam gave Peter was haunted, and he opened his mouth as though he was going to say something, before closing it again and staying silent instead.

"Sam, if you're bothered, I'll stop asking--"

"I'm not bothered by you asking. I'm just not sure if I should say yes."

"I told you, there's no harm in letting me do this," Peter assured him.

Sam snorted softly. "There is if you paint the one thing I don't want to see."

Peter's grip on his arm tightened a little as he tried to get Sam to look at him. "Sam, what is it you want to see?"

"Can you paint something six months from now?" Sam finally asked. 

"Sure. What's the something you want me to paint?"

"Me. I want to see where I'll be six months from now."

After all of Sam's apprehension, Peter had been expecting a stranger and more difficult request than that. "Okay," he said, leading Sam over to one of the blank canvasses he had set up. "Just stand right there and be patient. This might look a little weird, but it shouldn't take long." He arranged some of the paints on the table, set up his brushes, and took a deep breath. The last thing he was aware of in the studio was the sound of Sam's gasp as his eyes clouded over. From that point, all he could sense were the images flickering through his mind, like a fast scan of television channels, each picture lasting for only a moment before he moved on, searching for the one specific image he wanted. Once he'd found what he was looking for, he wasn't aware of anything else until the painting was done. It was always a little strange to come back to himself after losing time, and he was still getting used to the sensation of having his vision clear, only to have it become blurry again as he went from the crystal-clear image that played out in his mind's eye, to the often misshapen one he'd created on canvas. But, he was pretty sure this painting was one of his clearest yet. 

The focus of the painting was on a couple, standing outside in the daylight, holding hands. The fact that they were standing by what looked like a junkyard didn't exactly match the way the couple was dressed. The woman, a tall brunette, was wearing a light, flowered dress, the kind Peter would expect to see someone wear to church. The man looked about as dressed up as he could get, his shirt and tie balancing out the trucker hat firmly planted on his head. Between them stood another man, who bore no signs of religious affiliation, but who looked like he could officiate a wedding nonetheless. A younger blonde girl stood behind the woman, grinning at the couple, and behind the man stood Sam and Dean, looking happier than Peter would have ever thought they were capable of being.

Rubbing his eyes, Peter wanted to remark on how he needed to stop expecting things when it came to the Winchesters, since he kept getting surprised every time, but when he looked over at Sam, he found him near tears, and his concern beat out everything else he wanted to say. "Sam, what's wrong?" he asked. "Is this what you didn't want to see?"

"No," Sam said, shaking his head, and Peter realized he was laughing. "This is perfect. More than perfect. You painted Dean."

Peter was about to ask Sam what he meant by that when he heard Claire and Dean coming out from the back of the studio. Dean found Peter and Sam first, and then saw the painting. "What's that?" he asked, his eyes widening as he got a better look. "Holy shit. Is that Ellen and Bobby? Getting _married_?"

"Yeah," Sam said, completely focused on Dean. "Six months from now."

Dean turned to look at Sam so fast that Peter was afraid he'd hurt himself, and his expression changed from amusement to something more muted, almost like relief and surprise. "Seriously?"

Sam nodded, and unlike Dean, he wasn't holding back any of his excitement at what the painting showed. "We're there. Both of us."

"Are these people you're fighting with?" Claire asked. "Is that why you didn't think you'd be there?"

"We just weren't really expecting them to ever get married," Sam said smoothly. Peter was willing to believe that was the issue, until Sam looked at Dean, and Peter heard, clear as a bell, _You're going to be there, Dean. I'm going to save you._

Peter stared at Sam, willing him to think something that would make more sense, but he was interrupted by Claire. "Well, now you don't have to be surprised when they spring the good news on you," she said. "So, do you think you and Peter will be okay by yourselves for the evening? I promised Dean I'd show him around town, and in return he's going to tell me about some of the things you guys hunt. I figure if fairies and stuff are really out there, we should know about it, just in case."

Sam looked at Peter awkwardly, and Peter wasn't sure if that was because of the idea of spending more time with him, or because of the idea of Claire spending more time with Dean. He was hoping it was the latter. "I guess we'll be okay," he said.

"Yeah, I'll find a way to keep us entertained," Peter promised.

He didn't miss the way Claire snickered, or the way Dean did the same a moment later, but he let himself be distracted when Claire ran forward and hugged him. "Thank you! We'll see you guys later tonight then?" she said, already grabbing Dean's arm to lead him out of the studio. "Come on, I know exactly where we need to go first."

Peter did his best to ignore the smirking look that Dean gave Sam as he was pulled out the door, and in the awkward silence that followed Claire and Dean's departure, neither one of them moved at first. When Peter finally looked at Sam, he saw that he was staring at the painting again with a broad, contagious grin.

_I'm going to save you._ There was only one way to find out what Sam had meant by that.

"So, how do you feel about Chinese takeout?"


	4. Chapter 4

It felt a little strange to Sam to be back in Peter's apartment, with the memory of breaking into the place so fresh in his mind. And it didn't help that when they got to the door, Peter asked if it was okay for him to use his key, or if Sam wanted to pick the lock again.

"We were trying to catch you by surprise," he explained, holding onto the bags of Chinese food while Peter got the locks open and gave the door a shove.

"Is that your usual M.O.?" Peter asked. "Surprise the ghosts so you can get the upper hand?" 

Sam laughed. "Something like that. It's more effective than it sounds." He set the bags down on the kitchen table, and started organizing the little paper boxes of food while Peter grabbed plates and glasses for them. As he was lining the boxes up, his eyes fell on a pile of papers at the end of the table that he hadn't noticed the last time he was here, having been far more occupied by the conversation with Peter and Claire. The pile was topped with pictures, the first one of which was a shot of Claire, standing in the kitchen of Peter's apartment with a small group of women. Sam grabbed the pictures before he could convince himself not to do so, and flipped through them, surprised by the number of happy, normal-looking people he found. If these were the other people with powers who Peter and Claire knew, then there were a lot more of them than Sam expected. 

He didn't realize how long he'd been looking at the photographs until he heard Peter come up beside him and clear his throat. "Sorry," he said quickly, setting the pictures back where he'd found them. "I didn't mean to pry, I was just--"

"It's okay," Peter said, taking the pictures up again. "These are our friends. Some of them, at least."

Sam felt a pang of jealousy at the idea that there were even more people on Peter and Claire's side than the pictures showed. It wasn't like he and Dean didn't have friends; they had Bobby and Ellen, after all. But they'd lost so many people along the way, and when it all came down to it, the only person Sam really had was Dean. 

"They look like good people," he finally said.

Peter smiled at him. "They are. They're very good people. We're lucky to have them around."

Sam looked down at the photos again before glancing at Peter. "You know, Dean's getting the full scoop on you guys as we speak. What would I have to do to convince you to tell me about some of these people? If you want to, and if it's safe to, I mean."

"I guess it's safe," Peter said, smirking. "Why don't you start by handing over the spring rolls?"

Over the next few hours, Peter told Sam all about the people who he and Claire had met since they developed their powers: the man with the sword who Sam had seen earlier, who could control time, the mother with super strength, and her husband who could walk through walls, and their son who could talk to computers. He told Sam more about Mohinder, the geneticist who was working to figure them all out, and who was waiting for the finalized adoption papers that would make Molly his daughter officially. He talked about Claude, whose real name he still didn't know, but who popped up more and more often, though usually not in Peter's pictures. As Peter talked, Sam listened carefully to the powers he described, knowing that all of them were abilities Peter also possessed now. It was strange to think about that kind of power being wielded without consequence, without concern about becoming evil in the process, and Sam found himself becoming jealous again, just a little.

Sam also had the feeling that Peter was leaving people out. As he went through the photos, there were figures he skipped over, quickly and efficiently as he moved on to the next person, and Sam wondered if these were people they'd lost, people who Peter didn't want to talk about for some sad, painful reason. When Peter had finished, and asked Sam about some of the people on his side - surely, he and Dean couldn't be the only hunters out there, he said - Sam employed the same practice. He told Peter about Bobby and Ellen and Jo, and about some of the people they'd lost, like Ash, and Pastor Jim, and Caleb. But he didn't mention Andy, or Ava, or anyone else who would lead the conversation to him having to mention the visions he'd had before the demon had died, the visions that thankfully hadn't come back since.

By the time they'd finished talking, the food was almost completely gone, what was left was stone cold, and Sam felt better than he had in weeks. Despite the clear holes in their conversation, Sam felt like he'd found someone who could empathize with him in Peter, like Peter could almost understand him as well as Dean could. He didn't ask the same questions as Dean, questioning his motives, or his opinions. Instead, Peter used his questions to get more information, to seemingly get a clearer picture about what Dean and Sam's life was like, and Sam found, to his surprise, that he didn't mind painting that picture for Peter much at all.

"How did you and Dean get involved in all of this?" Peter asked, his nearly-empty plate lying forgotten next to him on the table. "Is it because your dad's friends knew about hunting?"

Sam shifted in his chair a little as he tried to figure out how to answer Peter's question. "Actually, those guys didn't become my dad's friends until after he'd started hunting. My mother was killed by a demon," he said, going for as much truth as he could without mentioning his involvement. "It wasn't trying to kill her, she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. My dad's the one who found her afterwards, and--the official police explanation was that there was an electrical fire, but my dad knew what he'd seen. He knew there was another explanation, and then he found out about the demon. He started hunting out of revenge, but in trying to hunt the demon down, he came across other evil things that needed to be taken care of too, and--well, he couldn't just leave them to hurt people. When we got old enough, he started training me and Dean, partly so we'd be able to defend ourselves if we had to, and partly so we'd be able to help him."

"Is the demon still out there somewhere?"

"No, thankfully. Dean got it, in the end."

Peter looked pleased at that answer. "Your dad must be really proud of you guys."

"Yeah, I think he was," Sam said, guiding a few leftover pieces of rice around his plate before pushing it away. "He died about a year and a half ago. The demon got him before he got it. But he was there when we beat it. It's kind of hard to explain, but--"

"It's okay," Peter interjected. "You don't have to explain. I'm sorry about your dad." Setting his own plate down, Peter put his hand over Sam's on the table, and Sam felt just a moment of nervous discomfort before he relaxed his hand under Peter's touch. 

"Me too." He smiled weakly, and only pulled away from Peter to reach into his back pocket and pull out his wallet. "Do you want to see a picture of my mom and dad? Since we're sharing photos and all."

Peter laughed, and nodded, and Sam pulled out the small collection of pictures he had in his wallet. Underneath a few photos of Dean that he had in case of emergencies was the picture of all four Winchesters outside their house in Lawrence. Sam pulled the photo carefully out of the plastic holder, and handed it to Peter.

"Wow. Your mom was really pretty," Peter said, giving Sam a soft smile. "And you were actually tiny. I didn't think that was possible."

Sam laughed, rolling his eyes. "Hey, just so you know, you don't have to worry about Dean trying anything with Claire. He can be kind of a hornball around girls, but he respects them way more than he lets on. He won't do anything to hurt her."

"I know he won't. I wouldn't have let Claire go with him if I thought he was going to hurt her," Peter said, giving Sam his picture back. "And besides, the main reason they went off with each other was so the two of us would be alone together."

Sam paused in putting the picture back into his wallet, and stared at Peter. "It was?"

"Yeah, on their way out Claire said something about how she and Dean decided you and I needed to 'talk' alone," Peter admitted. "It wouldn't surprise me if that was entirely Claire's idea. She can be a little manipulative sometimes, if she thinks what she's doing is in the other person's best interest. She's been badgering me for weeks about being more social with people."

Sam thought about Dean, and his insistence that Sam should get out every once in a while, to meet people, or have a few drinks, or to just get his nose out of his books and stop worrying about the rapidly decreasing time that Dean had left before some bitchy demon came for his soul. "Somehow, I don't think it was all Claire's idea," he said, before something Peter mentioned finally sunk in. "Wait, did you say Claire said this to you as they were leaving? 'Cause I was standing right there and I didn't hear her."

Peter looked guilty for a moment, and sat back in his chair, effectively putting a little more space between himself and Sam. "When we went through those pictures, I may have left out mentioning someone," he said. "One of the guys we know can hear people's thoughts."

Sam's eyes widened a little. "You mean, like mind reading?"

"Kind of. It's just like, overhearing direct thoughts. Images and feelings and emotions don't generally come through."

"And you know this because you can do it too."

Peter nodded. "I don't use that ability often, only when I absolutely have to. To me, it's an invasion of privacy. But if someone is thinking about something really hard, or thinks _at_ me - like, directs their thoughts straight to me - I'll hear it even if I'm not trying to. That's how Claire talks to me sometimes, when whatever she wants to say can't be said out loud."

"Oh," Sam said softly. He was almost afraid to ask his next question, but he had to know the answer. "Have you picked up anything from me and Dean?"

"Yeah," Peter said, and Sam had a moment of terror until he added, "When you were first talking to us, even if I hadn't seen the fairies you guys were fighting, I would have known you weren't lying about the hunting. You were thinking about all the things you'd seen, and hoping Claire and I would believe you. And then, after I finished the painting..." He trailed off for a moment, studying Sam so intently that he had to break the eye contact and look down. "You didn't really want to see where you'd be in six months, did you? You just wanted to see if Dean would be there. You were thinking something about saving him."

Sam nodded mutely, torn between being thankful that Peter hadn't picked up on anything he really didn't want him to know, and being embarrassed by what he had found out instead. "When we went up against the demon, there was some serious stuff that went down, and Dean tried to fix it. He summoned a demon, and offered up his soul in exchange for--for the things to be fixed. The demon took the deal, and left Dean with a year to live before she comes back to collect. That was eight months ago, and I haven't gotten him out of the deal yet."

"But if Dean is still around in six months, then the deal is going to end up being broken somehow, right?

"I guess. I mean, it has to be. If the demon comes to collect, Dean's going to die. And I'm _not_ going to let that happen, no matter what I have to do."

"You'll figure something out," Peter said, shifting forward in his chair to take both of Sam's wrists in his hands. "You know you will now."

"I know," Sam admitted, looking down at the way Peter's hands cupped his wrists. "I just thought knowing that would make the deal easier to think about, but it hasn't."

"I'm sorry." From anyone else, that sentiment might have sounded trite, but Peter managed to make it sound sincere, like he actually understood how Sam felt, and was truly apologetic. The two of them sat in peaceful silence after that, with Peter running his thumbs over the insides of Sam's wrists, and Sam making no movement to pull away this time. After a minute, Sam looked up at Peter again, and before he knew it, Peter leaned in and kissed him. It was tentative at first, like Peter was gauging Sam's reaction before doing anything further, and when Sam shifted forward to kiss Peter back, Peter dropped his wrists and put his hand on the back of Sam's neck, pulling him closer. It was then that the memories kicked in of the last time he'd done this, with Madison, and Sam put his hands on Peter's chest to push himself away.

"Peter, I can't," he said, standing up to put more distance between them. "I can't do this, I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," Peter said. "I thought you wanted to--you didn't pull away, and I just assumed--"

"It's not that I don't want to," Sam said quickly, interrupting Peter before he could get the wrong idea. "Because I do, believe me. But I can't get attached to anyone like this. It's not safe."

Peter sat back in his chair, looking wounded. "What, you think I'm going to mess with you or something?"

"No, I mean it's not safe for you." Sam moved to stand behind his chair, putting it between himself and Peter. "It's too dangerous-- _I'm_ too dangerous."

Peter gave Sam a skeptical look. "Dangerous how? Because you're a hunter?"

"Not exactly," Sam said. "The thing that killed my mother? It came back when I was in college, and killed my girlfriend, Jess. It killed her because of me, because I was too close to her, just like it killed my mother because of me, because she came in my nursery while the demon was there. And it hasn't just been the demon. The last woman I slept with - the first one since Jess - she'd gotten infected by a werewolf, and Dean and I thought we could save her. But we couldn't. We tried everything, but in the end, I had to...she asked me to kill her before she hurt anyone, and I did. And then Dean..." 

Peter was silent for a minute. "Was Dean's deal about you?"

Sam nodded. "The demon, he had this plan for a human to lead his army in taking over the world. A bunch of us were chosen, stolen out into the middle of nowhere, and put in this _Battle Royale_ scenario to see who would be the winner."

"What happened?" Peter asked.

"I lost," Sam said simply. "Got stabbed in the back by the last guy standing. Dean made the deal to bring me back; his soul for my life." The guilt that he still felt about that was nearly palpable, and Sam found he couldn't look at Peter any more, afraid of the reaction he would see in his face. 

He was expecting anger, for letting Dean do something so monumentally stupid on his behalf, for not having saved him yet after Dean had risked everything for him. But instead, Peter looked at Sam with nothing more than surprise, and said, "God, that sounds like something Nathan would do."

"Your brother?" Sam asked. 

"Yeah. It sounds like Dean suffers from the same older brother hero complex as Nathan. Does he like to tell you how it's his job to take care of you? To protect you? To keep you safe, because his world wouldn't be the same without you?"

Sam couldn't help but laugh as Peter described Dean perfectly. "Yes. All the time."

"Nathan does that too. He--" Peter stopped, letting out a sad, surprised laugh. "Sam, I'm not going to tell you that it doesn't sound like there's a lot of danger in your life. But around here? That kind of danger doesn't even register on the scale." He stood up, and started to pace by the kitchen table. "The newspaper article you read about Nathan was a lie. He hasn't been relaxing with his wife and kids for the last two months. He's been in a private facility, recovering."

"Recovering from what?"

"From nearly getting himself killed trying to save me," Peter said. "When I pick up powers from people, it's not a conscious process. I can't stop it, and a few months ago, right when I was still learning about my ability, I copied one that I didn't want." Sam listened attentively as Peter told him about Ted, about his inability to control his nuclear power, and about the dreams he'd had about blowing up.

"Did any of this hurt you?" Sam asked. 

"Not really, no. With the regeneration powers, it wasn't actually dangerous to me. But I was dangerous to everyone else," Peter said. "When we were in Isaac's apartment, did you notice the mural on his floor?"

Sam thought back, trying to recall what the floor had looked like. "I saw some of it. It looked like a cityscape."

"Yeah, that's what it looks like now. But originally, it was that same cityscape with a big, bright mushroom cloud in the middle of it. On the night after the election, I was supposed to lose control of the nuclear ability, and blow up in the middle of New York City."

"Wait a second," Sam said. "An explosion that big would take out half of the city. What do you mean you were supposed to do that? According to who?"

When Peter looked at Sam, he was angrier than Sam had ever seen him. "My mother. And some of her friends. She knew what was supposed to happen, and she tried to stop everyone who wanted to help me. Obviously, she didn't succeed."

That certainly explained why Peter didn't want to talk to his mother, and Sam found that he couldn't really blame him. "I think your mother and my father would have made a good pair," he muttered. "Well, obviously you didn't blow up. So what happened?"

Peter smirked, but there was no happiness in the look. "I did blow up."

Sam stared at him in total disbelief. "How?"

"Just like I was supposed to," Peter said. "When the time came, I lost control over the power. But when I finally exploded, I was a couple hundred miles above the Earth."

"You flew?"

Peter shook his head. "I was so scared, I couldn't do anything. I was flown."

Sam looked at Peter in confusion for a moment, and then suddenly, everything clicked into place, from the way this conversation had started, to the one power he'd seen Peter use that still had an unknown origin. "Nathan. He's the one who can fly."

"He's the one who can fly," Peter replied. "I don't even remember everything that happened. He came and found me, and he picked me up, and took off with me, and right around the time I was about to lose it altogether, he let me go. He let me fall, and he flew away. I was so scared, until I realized he _had_ to let me go. The explosion…it was like my entire body was being ripped open from the center, but only for a second, and then it stopped. It stopped, and I could feel myself starting to heal, starting to regenerate. And then I stopped falling."

"Nathan came back," Sam said, and he could feel his face fall when Peter shook his head.

"That's when I flew. It was Nathan who was falling. He hadn't flown far enough away when the blast hit. I caught up to him and got us back down safely, but it wasn't enough. It took time to get him to someplace safe, someplace where it wouldn't get out that he was there, and in the meantime, he--" Peter sighed, and Sam took the opportunity to close the distance he'd made between them. "He got sick, really sick. He only finally woke up about two weeks ago, and he can still barely make it out of bed. Not that he's not trying," he added with a gentle laugh. "He's refusing to just relax and heal, which means he's still himself, but it's making it a lot harder for him to get better."

Unsure of what to say at first, Sam took Peter's wrists in his hands, and stroked his thumbs over the insides as a soothing gesture, just as Peter had done for him. "But he's going to be okay, right?"

"In time, yeah," Peter said. "But for now he's still weak, and tired, and sick. And that's my fault."

"That's not your fault," Sam said.

"He nearly died because of me."

"That's not your fault," Sam repeated, slower and more urgently.

"Just like Dean making that deal wasn't your fault?" Peter said.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "That's different."

"No, it's not," Peter said. "Okay, deep down, I know that what happened to Nathan wasn't my fault. He's a stubborn bastard who would have put his life on the line for me no matter what. And deep down, you know that you couldn't have stopped Dean either." 

"He's a pretty stubborn bastard too sometimes," Sam admitted. 

Peter smiled softly. "There's almost nothing either of us could have done. But that doesn't make the guilt go away, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," Sam replied. For a moment, all he could do was stare at Peter, certain that the haunted expression of guilt on Peter's face matched his own. This time, Sam initiated the kiss.

"Sam," Peter said softly, his breath warm against Sam's lips. "You don't have anywhere else to be tonight, do you?"

Sam grinned, and shook his head, and then Peter's lips were on his again. He wrapped his arms around Sam and held onto him tightly, like he was afraid Sam was going to change his mind and run away, but Sam put his hands firmly on Peter's hips, and held onto him in return, letting himself be pulled and guided into the bedroom. Peter hit the bed first, pulling Sam down on top of him, and when he slipped his hands under Sam's shirt to try to push it up, Sam took the chance to grab his wrists. Peter offered no resistance, not even when Sam pushed his arms above his head and held him in place, and Sam knew it was all right.

"We have all night, right?" he said, leaning down to kiss a slow trail along Peter's neck. 

"Yeah," Peter replied, tilting his head as Sam started nibbling along with the kissing. "I think it's safe to say I'm not going anywhere."

Sam laughed, and nudged at the spot behind Peter's earlobe, grinning triumphantly when he heard Peter's breath hitch in response. When he bit down, sucking almost hard enough to leave a mark, he was rewarded with a moan that made him determined to find all the rest of Peter's sweet spots.

His exploration was slow and thorough as he figured out where to touch and taste to get the best responses from Peter. His experience with Madison had been fast and furious, more about taking what they needed before giving anything back. But then, he'd expected that it wouldn't be the only time they'd be together. He didn't dare to make the same mistake again. This could be the only time they had, and he wanted to make it memorable. 

Peter was warm everywhere, no matter where Sam touched him. The point where his neck met his shoulder was just as sensitive as the spot behind his ear, and he pleaded with Sam to leave a mark there too. Peter liked being marked. Peter liked to plead. Peter liked having his hair pulled. He liked having Sam's hands in his hair, period. And these were all things that Sam catalogued as he finally pulled Peter's shirt off to study him further.

"Wait," Peter said, out of breath. "Take your shirt off too." Sam must have hesitated for a moment too long, because Peter reached over and grabbed the bottom of his shirt, giving it a sharp tug. "I want to see you." The look of desire in his eyes got rid of any apprehension Sam had left, and he sat back just enough to pull his shirt off.

It didn't take much for Sam to lose himself in Peter's touch, not after Peter shoved him onto his back and climbed on top of him, stroking his fingers slowly down Sam's chest. He was almost able to forget about how much he and Dean had been getting hurt lately, and how he was bearing a lot more scars than usual.

"Is this why you didn't want to get undressed?" Peter asked, tracing his finger over a particularly thick mark on Sam's shoulder.

"It's one of the downsides to hunting," Sam said. "Most of the things we go after don't exactly want to be hunted, and they have no qualms about fighting back."

Peter trailed his hand down to Sam's hip, right above the waistband of his pants, to the three faint lines left from a recent clawing. "This looks like it hurt."

"It wasn't so bad," Sam lied, wanting to sound strong and brave. "Getting stabbed was the worst. I've never been through anything else that hurt like that."

"Do you have any marks from that, or did they go away when you were brought back?"

Sam shook his head wordlessly, and before he could lose his nerve, he rolled over and exposed his back to Peter, letting him see the patch of pink skin near the bottom of his spine. The scar looked exactly the same as it had when Sam first woke up in the cabin. It didn't hurt, and it didn't get worse, but it didn't get better either. It simply remained as a constant, sensitive reminder of how Sam had failed and died, and what had happened afterwards.

He didn't realize how much of that ordeal he was thinking about until Peter reached over and touched the scar gently, almost like it wouldn't be real until he could feel it for himself. "You didn't fail," he said. "You didn't know what was going to happen."

"I should have killed the guy when I had the chance. I had the chance," he said, "and I didn't take it."

"Because that's not who you are," Peter murmured. He leaned down, breathing warmth across Sam's skin, before he pressed a line of kisses down his spine, and then began tracing the outline of the injured skin with his lips and his tongue. 

Sam shivered at the intensity of the contact, and Peter stopped until Sam arched back towards him, willing him to continue. "Keep going. _Please._ " He could almost feel Peter's smile as he started licking again, leaving no part of the scar untouched, no matter how much Sam writhed as he ached for more. Just when Sam thought he was done, Peter started moving up, switching from kissing to biting, leaving gentle marks all along Sam's back until he was completely draped over Sam, his face buried in the crook of Sam's neck. "I want you," he said softly, shifting his hips forward to press the unmistakable evidence of that fact against Sam's ass.

"I want you too," Sam replied, turning just enough to make eye contact with Peter, to see exactly how badly he wanted this. "I want to be inside you, want to watch you when you come for me. Is that--" 

"Yes," Peter said, laughing like Sam didn't even need to bother asking. "Whatever you want, just--yes."

Suddenly, taking things slow didn't seem like such a great option to Sam. He didn't waste any time in getting the rest of his clothes off, and he found himself watching Peter as he did the same, studying the lines and curves of his body and etching them in his memory. 

"You should take a picture," Peter said, stretching out as he laid on his back.

"Mental pictures count just the same," Sam replied, kicking the last of his clothes off before getting back onto the bed. "Where are your--"

"In the drawer." Peter gave a little nod towards his nightstand, and Sam opened the drawer to find the condoms and supplies he was about to ask about.

"Do you do that to everybody, cutting them off before they've finished their sentences?"

"Only when I think they're talking too much." 

The look in Peter's eyes was sinful, and only got darker when Sam leaned in closer. "You think I'm talking too much?"

Peter reached up and snatched the condom out of Sam's hand. "I think there's definitely other things you could be doing right now besides talking," he said, ripping open the foil and reaching down to slide the condom over Sam's cock. 

Sam had to work fast to bite back a moan; it was hard to stay in control with how good Peter felt. Quickly slicking his fingers with lube, Sam reached down between Peter's legs, teasing one fingertip over his hole. "You mean like this?"

"I was thinking of something a little better than that," Peter said, pushing his hips towards Sam's hand. "Definitely bigger."

Sam laughed and slid one finger in, torturously slow. He could tell that Peter didn't approve of his speed by the way he was shifting to draw Sam in. "Tell me what you want," he said. "I want to know what you're thinking."

Peter's mouth quirked into a grin as he looked up at Sam. "I'm thinking you can move faster than you think you can."

With that kind of permission, Sam pushed a second finger in and started to move his hand faster, watching Peter relax and follow his touch. When he finally couldn't take it anymore, couldn't stand to watch Peter start to come undone from only his fingers, Sam pulled his hand away and moved between Peter's legs, sliding into him with a sound of pleasure that he couldn't have held back even if he'd wanted to.

"Fuck, Sam," Peter murmured, arching towards him impatiently and pulling Sam in deeper. Sam went after the spot behind his ear again, holding the taste of Peter's skin on his tongue as he marked him, and reveled in the noises Peter made as they turned low and needful.

"Tell me what you want," Sam said again. "What do you want me to do to you?"

"God, just fuck me," Peter answered. "Harder, come on, please."

Harder meant faster and faster meant deeper, and Sam found that he couldn't keep up a rhythm for long before he was just moving with Peter, leaning back to look down at him as their bodies met. When he caught Peter's eyes, he couldn't look away, and in that moment, there was nothing else. No curses, no deals, no demons, no worries. Just warmth, and pleasure, and Peter, and _Peter_ , and Sam didn't want it to stop. The weight he was carrying was too much, and he wanted to stay here, buried in Peter, watching him lose control, and losing some of his own in return.

"Come on," Peter said again, sounding desperate as he put his arms around Sam. "So, so close."

"Yeah?" Sam smirked, and slid his hand between them, wrapping his fingers around Peter to stroke him with each slick thrust of his hips. Peter gasped, and begged for Sam not to stop, growing more and more incoherent with each stroke until he finally came, gripping Sam's arms hard enough to leave bruises. Between the sound and the feel of Peter, Sam didn't last much longer, and before he knew it, he was collapsing on top of Peter, raw and open. 

Peter panted softly beneath him, his breath hitting Sam in bursts of warmth, and Sam found that he didn't know what to say, having lost the power of coherent speech somewhere in his orgasm. Thankfully, Peter didn't want to hear anything, and pushed Sam onto his side instead, leaning in and giving him a slow, tender kiss.

"It's been a really long time since I felt as all right as I do now," Sam finally murmured.

"Just all right?" Peter teased with a quirk of his lips. "I thought it was a lot better than that."

Sam laughed. "It was. It really was." He pushed Peter's bangs out of his face and kissed him back, a simple brush of the lips that he stopped before he could find himself wanting more. "I should call Dean, so he'll know when I'm on my way back to the motel. Even if he knows I'm here, he might worry if he doesn't hear from me." And Dean already had enough to worry about, Sam thought, reluctantly letting reality sink in again. 

Peter frowned softly for a moment before he shrugged. "Okay. Do you need to leave right now?" He sounded nonchalant, but as he spoke, he moved closer to Sam again, trailing his fingers up his hip, and Sam couldn't fight the small shiver that came over him. 

"No, I don't have to," he said. He watched Peter's hand as it traveled from his hip, along his waist, to his chest. "Unless you want me to."

"I don't want to keep you if you need to go," Peter replied, stroking his thumb over one of Sam's nipples, before switching attention to the other. "But I also don't want you to leave if you're only feeling 'all right.'"

Sam may not have been much of a sexual expert, but he wasn't clueless enough to miss Peter's signal. "I don't have to go," he said again, offering no resistance as Peter gently pushed him onto his back. "I can tell him I'll be back in the morning."

Peter's eyes darkened with lust, and he grinned as he climbed on top of Sam and covered Sam's body with his own. "Maybe you should play it safe. Tell him you'll be back tomorrow night."


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a week since Peter and Sam's first evening together, and Peter was having trouble believing how well things were going. When Sam had tried to leave so quickly that first night, Peter was certain he'd done something wrong. But then he got Sam to stay - and come back again every night since. Relationships never worked this well for him. Life in general never worked this well for him, and it was all he could do to keep from sabotaging himself while waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It didn't look like the world was going to crash around him today though. Sam was sprawled out on his bed in his and Dean's motel room, surrounded by books and medical journals as he searched for any information that Peter could take to Nathan's doctor. Peter had tried to tell him he didn't need to do that, that he trusted the doctor to do his own research, but Sam refused to accept that answer, insisting that he wanted to help in some way, and that if Peter wanted to help him in return, Sam knew exactly how he could do it. 

That was how Peter ended up watching Sam from across the small table in the motel room, before straightening out the map of the U.S. spread across the table's surface, and looking back over the list of names that Dean had given him.

"Who are all of these people?" he asked, trying to get each name clear in his mind before he started.

"They're acquaintances of ours," Dean replied. Sam glanced up from his books at that comment, but didn't add anything in reply. "Other hunters. We need to know if they're still alive, and if they are, where they're at right now."

Peter certainly understood the desire to know where your friends were, although from the way Sam and Dean were looking, he wasn't sure how close to friends the two of them were with the men on the list. But tracking these people down was the least he could do with everything Sam was doing for him and Nathan, so he wasted no time in focusing on the first name and letting his senses guide his hand to where the first pin needed to hit the map.

The motel room was quiet as Peter worked his way through the list, with Sam still reading, and Dean watching in amazement as Peter set pin after pin throughout the west coast and the deep Midwest. He was a third of the way through the list when the silence was broken by a sharp intake of breath from Sam. 

"You okay?" Dean asked, glancing back at Sam over his shoulder.

"Yeah, it's just a headache," he said. "I think I've been reading for too long."

"Take a break," Peter said, not hiding the concern in his voice. "You've been at that for a while now."

"It's okay, I just--" Sam took another deep breath, and the book he was holding fell to the bed as he brought his hands up to clutch his head.

Dean turned around fully this time, and was out of his chair in an instant. "Sam?!" he yelled, rushing across the room just in time to catch his brother as he fell to the floor. Peter followed right after him, moving to Sam's side, and he watched in horror as Sam pressed his palms against his temples and let out a long, solid cry of pain. After a moment of staring, his training kicked in, and he reached for Sam to try to get him to lay down.

"Leave him alone," Dean snapped, pushing Peter's hand away.

"We can't just leave him alone. He could be having a seizure, we have to lay him down."

"He's not having a seizure."

"You don't know that. He--"

"He's not having a seizure!" Dean yelled, his voice softening almost instantly when Sam's cries of pain stopped, getting replaced with gasps as Sam finally opened his eyes. "Sammy? What the hell was that?"

Sam still had his head in his hands, and was so curled in on himself that Peter just barely heard him whisper, "Vision."

"Shit." Dean's voice was fierce as he swore and put his arms around Sam. "What did you see?"

"A girl," Sam said shakily. "A little girl, about 10 years old, getting put into the back of a van. This guy grabbed her and--it was a shapeshifter."

Somehow, that seemed to only make Dean more angry. "Any idea where this was?"

"It was outside a grocery store, one with big signs by it for the highway. Somewhere in Connecticut."

Before Dean could ask any more questions, Peter put his hands up to stop them both. "Okay, is one of you planning on telling me what the hell's going on here?"

When Dean turned back to him, Peter gave him a blank look, and Sam's expression grew guiltier by the moment. "Dude, you've got to be kidding me. You never told him about your visions?"

"There wasn't anything to tell," Sam replied softly.

"There wasn't--dude, I seriously don't get you sometimes," Dean said. "Look, I'm gonna get our stuff, and get the car ready. You've got ten minutes to fill Peter in, and then we're heading out to somewhere with internet access to see what we can find, okay?"

Sam nodded, and waited until Dean had gone outside before pushing himself up onto the bed. "I can explain," he started.

"What's there to explain?" Peter snapped. He hated how angry he sounded, but he was too upset to be able to hide it. "I asked you and Dean, point blank, if you had any kind of abilities, and you told me you didn't."

"And I wasn't lying," Sam said sadly. "Not really."

"How is that not lying?!"

"Because I thought my visions were gone! I haven't had one in months, and I thought they _finally_ went away." He rubbed at his eyes, still clearly in pain, and Peter had to fight the urge to kneel down in front of him and try to help. 

"How could your ability just go away?" 

Sam sighed. "Because it's not like yours. I wasn't born being able to get visions. The demon that killed my mother did this to me."

Peter wasn't used to having his feelings shift on a dime, but it was like his anger dissipated in a snap, and all that was left was concern for Sam. "Wait, what?"

After a few more deep breaths, Peter finally got the truth out of Sam. He told him more about the demon, and about the children the demon had picked for his potential soldiers, and the way he came when they were six months old and fed them his blood. He told Peter how his mother had died, not randomly, but trying to protect him, and he told him how his ability had started, with the nightmares about Jess and the people dying in his childhood home, which turned into visions of Max Miller, blindingly painful and unnaturally frightening. Peter found himself sitting down next to Sam, close enough to feel the heat from his body, and he wasn't sure whether he wanted to hold Sam, or shake the crap out of him for not telling him about any of this sooner.

"Are your visions always of people dying?" he asked.

"Dying, or about to die," Sam replied. "When we killed the demon, the visions stopped. I thought that getting rid of him got rid of everything that went with him too. But I guess not. And I know I should have told you sooner, and I'm sorry. I just didn't know how. It was hard enough telling you about the demon in the first place."

"I'm not upset because you didn't tell me everything about the demon. I'm upset because you didn't think to warn me that you have an ability I can copy."

"It doesn't work like that. It can't. Our powers are from two different sources. I would have told you if I thought you weren't safe around me."

Peter shook his head, wondering how Sam had misunderstood him so completely. "It's not a matter of being safe or not," he said. "It's a matter of warning me that I could pick up something I'm not expecting. What if you're wrong? What if I can get your visions, and I just haven't had one yet? Can you imagine if I had one and didn't realize it was your ability, and not a symptom of something being wrong with me?"

Sam looked up at him, even more guilty than before. "I honestly didn't think about that. I'm sorry."

Peter stood up again, if only to distance himself from the sorrowful puppy eyes Sam was giving him. "The other people that the demon visited, do they all have visions like you do?"

"Not exactly. They have all kinds of different powers. I met one person who had nightmares like mine, but there were others...one had telekinesis, another could use mind control...the guy who killed me had super strength, of all things. It varies from person to person."

"That sounds like a lot of the people I know," Peter remarked.

"Yeah, I guess so," Sam said with a sad smile. "There's more to it though."

"What do you mean?"

"None of us--we don't just have one ability. If any of us really wanted to, we could have any of the other powers we wanted."

Peter stared at Sam in surprise, with visions of Sylar suddenly running through his head. "How?"

"By giving in to the demon's power. The girl who had nightmares like me? She gave in. She said it was like switches flipping in her head, like one ability after another turning on for her use. Of course, she was also crazy, because that's what happened to everyone who tapped into the powers that weren't theirs to begin with. They all turned into murderers."

"Is that why you and Dean were worried about where my powers came from?" Peter asked. "Because of them?"

Sam nodded. "I remember when my visions first started, I told Dean I'd give anything to be able to control them. Now I know that's not true, because I'd rather have no control at all than turn into something evil." He laughed shortly. "And I guess I still don't have any control now. After we killed the demon, I thought everything went away. A month passed with no visions, and then another, and then next thing I knew, it'd been six months, and I hadn't had a single nightmare come true, let alone a vision. I thought I was finally close to normal again."

"Is that what you really want? To be normal?"

"I'm never going to be completely normal. But I thought I could get close. And I know wanting that probably doesn't make any sense to you. All I've ever wanted is to be normal, and all you've ever wanted is to be special. That's why I thought you wouldn't understand."

"You don't think I've ever wanted to be normal?" Peter asked, sitting down again next to Sam. "You think that when I was sitting by Nathan's bed, wondering if he was ever going to wake up, that I didn't wish I could go back and do something to keep us from being special? To let us just be a hospice nurse and a politician, like we should have been? Yeah, when all of this started, I thought my ability was the greatest thing ever. And then people started dying, and I almost lost my brother. Being special isn't all it's cracked up to be, I know that."

Sam opened his mouth like he was going to say something, and then leaned in instead, sliding his fingers into Peter's hair as he kissed him. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think you'd understand, and I didn't want you to get hurt--"

"Get hurt by who?" Peter asked, letting Sam get close again, as much as he wanted to. "By the demon? He's dead."

"Yeah, but there are other evil things that want a piece of me now that he's gone. And they're not the only ones," Sam said. "That list of people Dean gave you to find? Those aren't friends of ours - they're hunters who know about me and my connection to the demon, and they're trying to hunt me because of it."

Peter paled a little, hoping that didn't mean what he feared it did. "What do you mean, they're trying to hunt you?"

Sam was silent for a moment as he turned away from Peter. "A lot of hunters only see things in black and white. If someone isn't completely normal, then they figure they must be something evil. Those hunters think I'm dangerous, and they want me dead. These are the kind of men who like to shoot first and ask questions later, and we have the few people who are on our side working to make sure they can't track Dean and I down. They've been leaving clues and paper trails that say we're dealing with possessions on the west coast. That's why we asked you to map them out. We wanted to see if it was working."

The acceptance in Sam's voice at the idea that people might want him dead almost made Peter feel as sick as the thought of someone killing him for something he never had any control over. "I think it's working so far," he said, glancing at the half-finished map. "God, I really wish you'd told me about all of this before now."

"Why? So you would have known what you were getting yourself into while you still had a chance to escape?" Sam teased, but there was no humor in his tone.

"No," Peter replied. "So I could have started helping you sooner. You know what I've been through; you're not going to scare me off that easily." Sam looked at him with a mix of surprise, wonder, and gratitude, and Peter finally reached over to touch him again, brushing his fingers along Sam's face. "Is your headache gone?"

Sam shook his head softly. "They tend to linger for a little while."

Peter nodded, and cupped Sam's face in his hands, slowly massaging his temples, where it had looked like the pain was the strongest when the vision hit. His hands felt warm against Sam's skin, and he couldn't help but grin as Sam let out a moan of appreciation and sank into his touch. "Does that feel better?"

"Yes," Sam murmured. "That feels _so_ much better."

Peter was still grinning when the door to the motel room opened, and Dean came back inside, hauling a duffel bag over his shoulder and looking back and forth between the two of them. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No," Peter said, at the same time as Sam said, "Yes." Peter laughed, feeling better when Sam laughed with him, and pulled away with obvious reluctance. 

"I filled Peter in on pretty much everything," Sam said.

Dean smirked. "And he hasn't run away screaming. That's good." He dropped the duffel bag onto the bed, and Peter saw that it was filled with weapons. Dean gave Sam a quick once-over as he added two more guns to the collection. "Are you good to go now?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'll be fine by the time we find a library."

"I know where the library is," Peter offered. "You need the internet access?"

"Yeah, to try to figure out where that store is," Dean said. "Can you give us the directions?"

"Sure, I can direct you on the way there."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, and even though Peter couldn't tell exactly what it signified, the atmosphere got uncomfortable enough that he knew he'd said something wrong.

"Peter, I don't think you should come with us," Sam said. "The hunts we go on from my visions are dangerous, even more than usual."

Peter crossed his arms over his chest and gave Sam a stubborn look. "That's not really a convincing reason for me to not go with you. Three people hunting is better than two, isn't it?"

"Numbers don't really have anything to do with it. You don't have experience with the kinds of things we go after. You could get hurt." He put his hands up almost immediately, stopping Peter from interrupting him. "And don't tell me you can't really get hurt, because I know that already, and I still think this is too dangerous."

"I don't want you to get hurt either, and the best way I can make sure that doesn't happen is to go with you." 

"Hey!" Dean yelled. "Do you think the two of you could have this fight in the car? Your visions don't exactly come with a long timetable to work with."

Sam looked like he wanted to argue with Dean, but only for a moment before his expression softened. "You're right, we've got to go," he said, before turning to Peter. "Just...follow our lead here, okay?" Peter didn't have time to respond before Sam was off the bed and out the door, and Dean looked at him apologetically as they followed him to the car.

+++++

The trip to the library was even more successful than Peter had expected. He wasn't surprised that Sam and Dean were very good at what they did, but the precision with which they tracked down the information they needed was kind of amazing, and it wasn't long before they were back on the road again with a short list of places to search.

"So, you said this thing is a shapeshifter?" Peter asked. "Are we talking human-looking shapeshifter?"

Sam nodded, still looking a little reluctant to have Peter in the back of the car. "Yeah. The whole point is for them to be able to blend in seamlessly with people, so they can get around undetected."

"What do you think it wants with this girl?"

"The same thing any grown adult wants with a little girl," Dean replied. "Shapeshifters have the same basic needs as humans, and that means they can have the same sick perversions too."

Peter thought of anyone trying to hurt Molly like that, and his anger flared. "So, how do we stop him?"

"I'm still not convinced that 'we' should include you," Sam said. 

"You know, he could find the girl and make sure she stays safe," Dean pointed out. "That would free both of us to track down the 'shifter."

"Or you could stop talking about me like I'm not sitting right here, and suck it up and let me come with you," Peter replied sharply.

Sam turned around to face Peter. "How do you know the shapeshifter won't hurt you?"

"Because I blew up, and I'm still in one piece," Peter said, feeling a small sense of satisfaction at the look on Sam's face when he was reminded of that. "If a nuclear reaction can't take me out, I doubt that whatever this thing has going for it will do any damage."

"Have you ever killed anyone before?" Dean asked, glancing at Peter in the rearview mirror as he interrupted them. 

"No," Peter said, pausing for a minute as he thought about people like Simone. "I've been responsible for a few deaths; people have died because of me. But I've never actually been the one to pull the trigger."

Dean muttered to himself, just loud enough for Peter to pick up on _...talks just like Sammy_. "Look, here's the thing. All the invincibility in the world isn't going to help us if you can't actually kill the thing we're going after. So I'm standing by my original idea - you find the girl and you get her to safety, and we'll take care of the 'shifter. If we end up needing backup, like we did with the fairies, then you can help us."

Peter thought about arguing his point again, but the look on Dean's face told him that he probably wasn't going to get anywhere. "Fine," he said, and he could only feel frustrated for a moment before Sam smiled at him in relief, and he found himself smiling back instead. 

As it turned out, Dean had been right about one thing - Sam's visions did come with a very limited timetable in which to work. They managed to find the right store, after Sam yelled so sharply for Dean to turn that he nearly drove off of the road, and winding through the parking lot revealed the shapeshifter's van located at the furthest corner, far away from where anyone would notice it. But there was no sign of the guy, or the little girl, and Peter thought they'd arrived ahead of them until they got out of the Impala and nearly ran into a frantic woman.

"Have you seen my daughter?" she asked shakily, near tears. "She's nine years old, with blonde pigtails, and she was wearing a pink shirt and blue jeans and--I just turned my back for a second and she was gone and I've been looking all over for her but--"

One glance at Sam was all Peter needed to see to know that the mother was describing the girl from his vision. "Ma'am, it'll be all right," he said, managing to sound far more calm than he felt. "We'll help you look. Why don't you go back to the front of the store, to see if she went there, and we'll look out here."

"Oh, oh thank you," she said, and Peter felt his chest tighten at the idea that they were too late. As soon as the woman was out of earshot, Dean let out a lengthy litany of profanity, and Peter figured he was having the same pessimistic thoughts.

"The bastard's already got her."

"But his van's still here," Sam said, taking off in a run towards the end of the parking lot. "Come on." When they got to the van, Sam and Dean pulled out their guns, and Peter realized for the first time that in the initial rush to get out of the car, he hadn't been given a weapon. But before he could ask about that, Sam pointed to the van's back door. 

_Can you open that if it's locked?_ he asked silently.

Peter nodded, and Sam signaled Dean in return. With the two of them suddenly behind him, guns at the ready, Peter had no choice but to forget about his own weapon needs, grab the door handle, and give it a sharp pull. The piercing sound of metallic grinding filled the air as Peter wrenched the lock free, and nearly pulled the door off its hinges, revealing the inside of the van. From what Sam and Dean had said, Peter knew that the shapeshifter would at least resemble a human, but he'd been expecting at least some small sign that the creature was, well, a creature. Instead, he found himself staring at a completely normal-looking man, who was quickly pulling away from the girl from Sam's vision. For a moment, he wasn't sure if this was Sam and Dean's kind of gig after all. But then the shapeshifter blinked, and his eyes caught the gleam of a nearby car and shined bright white.

"Peter, get her out of here," Dean said smoothly, never taking his eyes off the shapeshifter.

Not wanting to waste any time, Peter leaned into the van and held his hands out to the girl. He felt sick when she shrank back from him, but he managed to give her a weak smile. "It's all right, I'm not going to hurt you. Your mom is looking for you. Do you want me to take you to her?" The girl nodded mutely, and Peter finally got close enough to take her hand and pull her out of the van and into his arms.

"Go on," Sam said, looking more dangerous than Peter had ever seen him. "We've got this guy."

Peter's immediate gut feeling was that that wasn't true, and he wished, not for the first time, that Sam could hear what he was thinking, to hear how desperately he wanted him and Dean to be careful. But all he could do was nod, and tuck his arm tight around the girl as he quickly carried her back to her mother. He barely registered the woman's tears of joy as she took her daughter from him, thanking him and begging to know where he'd found her. He didn't know where to start to try to explain the situation to her, so he didn't even try - once the girl was safe in her mother's arms, he just turned around without saying anything at all and ran back to Sam and Dean, ignoring the mother's pleas for him to stay.

He knew something was wrong as soon as he saw that no one was standing outside the van anymore, and as he got closer, Peter found that his suspicions had been correct - the van was empty, Dean was nowhere in sight, and Sam was lying on the ground, clutching his stomach.

"Sam!" Peter yelled, running to his side and crouching down to check on him. "Sam, what happened?"

"The bastard came at us," Sam said, wheezing as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. Peter couldn't see any blood; thankfully, Sam seemed winded more than anything else. "He called our bluff. We didn't actually want to shoot him. Someone would have heard the shots. Dean had his knife too, and he sliced the guy, but I don't think it was enough. He took off across the street."

Peter looked out past the highway, noticing that the opposite side of the road was filled with trees, and his searching came just in time to see Dean disappear into the woods.

"We've got to catch up with them," Sam said. He winced as he stood up, but refused to let Peter steady him.

"Sam, you're hurt. I can go, and you can stay here--"

"No," Sam said sharply. "I just got the wind knocked out of me. We have to go and help Dean, both of us, right now."

Peter knew if they stood there arguing for much longer, they stood the chance of losing track of Dean, and forcing him to face the shapeshifter alone. So, he made no argument, and followed Sam across the highway.

Once again, Peter found himself amazed by how good Sam and Dean were at their job. Dean created a clear trail through the trees for them to follow, breaking branches and leaving heavy footsteps in his wake, and it didn't take long for Peter and Sam to catch up to him, and the shapeshifter as well. The two of them were locked in a fight over Dean's knife, and Peter watched in horror as the shapeshifter managed to get the weapon away from Dean, and slash at him. Dean cried out, crumpling to the ground, and the shapeshifter dropped the knife, before taking off into the trees again.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, heading for his brother. Dean rolled onto his back and made a noise of protest, but Sam ignored him, kneeling down and growing pale at the sight of blood slowly spreading across Dean's shirt.

"Sammy, go," Dean said. "Stop that damn thing before it gets away!" Sam shook his head, and Dean reached up to grab him by the shoulders and give him a shove. "Go! I'll be all right."

"Sam, we'll come back for him, I promise," Peter said. He grabbed Dean's knife and took Sam's hand to pull him up and in the direction the shapeshifter had gone.

To Peter's disgust, it was even easier to follow the shapeshifter than it had been to follow Dean. Bits of skin and bone were scattered along the ground where he'd been, like he was starting to shed, and sure enough, when Peter and Sam caught up to him, it was because he'd stopped to deal with more of his peeling skin. Now that they were safely away from the store, Sam didn't seem to have any qualms about opening fire, but the shifter ducked, and dodged the shots. He turned then, glaring darkly at Sam, and when he came at him, Peter realized that he couldn't just stand and watch any longer. Without even really thinking about it, Peter stepped in front of Sam and put his hand out, catching the 'shifter and stopping him in his tracks. 

"The hell?" he said, struggling against Peter's hold, even as Peter pushed him back against the nearest tree. "What are you?"

"I'd ask you the same thing, but honestly, I'm not sure I want to know." Peter advanced on the shapeshifter, holding him steady. "I do have one question though. What were you going to do with that little girl?"

The shapeshifter laughed, revealing a mouth of bloody, twisted teeth. "What was I going to do? Anything I wanted."

It only took one more step for Peter to close the distance between them, and stab the shapeshifter in the stomach with Dean's knife. The blood on his hands was sticky, and more normal-looking than he'd expected, but it was nothing compared to the human look of fear that crossed the shapeshifter's face as he gasped and died. Peter was still for a moment, in disbelief at what he'd just done, and then he pulled the knife back out with a grunt, watching the shapeshifter fall to the ground with a sickening thump.

"Wow," Sam said softly, and Peter turned to find him looking at him with a vague sense of awe. "I didn't know if you were really going to do that."

"Neither did I," Peter admitted, staring down at the knife. "How the hell do you guys do this all the time?"

"Just like that," Sam said simply. Then his eyes widened, and he took off in the direction in which they'd come. "Dean. We've got to help Dean."

When Peter caught up to Sam, he was kneeling by Dean again, and running his hands over his brother's chest, seemingly searching for his most serious wound. "Dean? Come on, wake up!" 

Peter knelt down on the other side of Dean's body, his nursing training taking over again as he checked his pulse. "Sam, relax," he said softly. "He's just unconscious."

"Don't tell me to relax. He's bleeding too much."

Peter lifted Dean's shirt away from his body, revealing an angry gash across his chest, and he winced at how serious the cut looked.

"We've got to bring him back to the car, and get him to a hospital," Sam said, standing up and glaring when Peter didn't move right away. "Peter! Come on, we've got to go. He's going to bleed to death."

But Peter was still staring at Dean, and holding on tightly to his shirt. When he'd touched Sam before, to try to help his headache, his hands had felt warm against Sam's skin. Now, the warm sensation was back, and Peter didn't understand why. "Wait."

'Wait? We don't have time to wait, Peter! Come on!"

"Just--wait." Unsure of what else to do, Peter lifted Dean's shirt up further, and laid his hands at the edges of the wound. The moment skin met skin, everything shifted, and Peter's hands felt like they were burning with the waves of warmth that spread through his palms. Dean didn't seem to feel the burn, still laying motionless on the ground, and Peter's fingers tingled as he watched the wound begin to shrink from the outside.

"Oh my God," Sam whispered, sinking back down onto the ground.

The torn skin came back together, fixing itself in a way that Peter had only seen on himself and Claire. The cut closed up completely, and then became a scar that became fresh, untouched skin, smooth and tan and perfect, as though there'd never been a mark there at all. At that point, Peter finally pulled his hands away and leaned back, feeling almost as drained as if he'd had to heal himself.

"You--" Sam started, but he was cut off by Dean, gasping as he suddenly regained consciousness. He coughed, and pushed himself up onto his elbows, glancing back and forth between Sam and Peter. 

"What the hell happened? Where's the shapeshifter?"

"We got it," Sam said, brushing his hands over Dean's arms and chest, like he was making sure that what he was seeing was real. "Oh my God, you're okay."

Dean looked down at himself, at the blood on his shirt, and his clean, uninjured skin. "I know that bastard cut me."

"Peter healed you," Sam explained, looking at him with an even more grateful expression than he had when Peter had finished his painting. "Why didn't you tell me you could do that?" Peter was still staring at his hands as Sam shook his head and started to help Dean get up. "Come on, we'd better get out of here before anyone comes looking for us."

Dean tried to stand, but let out a sharp cry of pain before collapsing back onto the ground. "Damn it, my leg," he groaned, curling up a little as he leaned backwards. Sam grabbed the bottom of Dean's jeans and pulled them up, looking for any sign of injury. 

"Did you hurt your leg when you fell?" Dean nodded, and Sam turned to look at Peter. "Can you heal him again?"

"I don't know," Peter admitted, trying to sort through all the thoughts that were running through his head. "This isn't one of my abilities."

"What are you talking about? I just saw you do it."

"I know," Peter said carefully. "But this isn't a power I've had before. There was a man who could do this, who could heal people with a touch. He was a...family acquaintance, I guess you could say. But I never met him, not once. He was killed before I could copy his power. And I've tried to heal people, hoping that maybe, somehow I picked it up, but I didn't. I tried to heal Nathan. I tried _so_ hard, and it never worked."

"But if you didn't get the ability from the source, then where did it come from?" Sam asked.

Peter locked eyes with Sam, and gave him a serious look. "I think maybe it came from a different source."

It took a moment, but the shock on Sam's face showed that he seemed to understand what Peter was getting at. "Wait, you don't think you got it from me, do you?"

"That's exactly what I think."

"But how?" Sam asked shakily. "I can't heal people."

"Actually, we don't know that," Dean interrupted. "There are so many of the demon's kids we never found - who's to say that one of them wasn't capable of healing?"

Sam went from looking back and forth frantically to outright shaking his head as he got to his feet again. "No. No way." His nervousness at the idea became palpable as he started clenching his hands at his side. "And even if you're right, that doesn't explain how Peter ended up with the ability."

"I have a idea," Peter said. "And I'll explain it to you, after you've tried to heal Dean's leg."

"I can't--"

"You _can_ \--"

"No, you don't understand. I told you, I can't use any of the other powers--"

"You can't, or you won't?"

"All right, both of you just shut up for a second!" Dean said, leaning up as much as he could to look at Sam. "Maybe you should try," he started, grabbing Sam's arm when he looked like he was going to interrupt again. "Sam, the only way we're going to know if Peter picked this power up from you is if you try. Because if he did, this opens up a whole new load of crap that we've got to deal with. We need to know."

"What if I hurt you?" Sam whispered. "What if I don't just pick up the healing? What if I grab something else, something harmful?"

"Then we'll deal with that," Dean insisted, lowering his voice so much that Peter had to move closer to hear him. "Sammy, you know I wouldn't ask you to do this if I thought it would hurt you, or you'd hurt anyone else. I trust you, and I need you to start trusting yourself for a change. And," he added with a smirk, "my leg is fucking killing me, so I need one of you to do something about it."

Sam let out a soft laugh, shutting his eyes for a moment before nodding and giving in. "Okay. I'll try." For a moment, he just touched Dean's leg gingerly, like he was searching for what could be wrong. "I don't know what to do," he admitted quietly.

"Just relax," Peter said. "You've got to let go of everything you're afraid might happen and just give in. Just--" Peter trailed off when he saw Sam snap his hands away from Dean and look down at them. "Do they feel warm?" Sam nodded, looking stunned, and Peter took the opportunity to reach over and gently put Sam's hands back on Dean's leg. "They're going to get a little warmer. That's how you know it's working."

Sam stayed silent, pressing his hands against Dean's jeans, seemingly ignoring the small grunts of pain that Dean was unsuccessfully trying to hold back. "A little warmer?" he said sharply, before cutting himself off and closing his eyes, tightening his grip on Dean's leg. Dean bit his lip hard at the sensation of what Sam was doing, and for a moment, Peter was worried that something was going wrong, that Sam tapped into something different without realizing, and that he was hurting Dean instead. But then Dean got a look of bliss on his face, and his whole body relaxed, as though every muscle had been tight up until that moment. Sam pulled back and nearly tipped to the side, looking pale and exhausted, but accomplished. 

"Holy shit, that really worked," Dean said, sitting up fully, with no trouble at all, practically beaming at Sam in his excitement. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just wiped," Sam said. Peter figured they probably felt the same right now, as Sam looked down at Dean with a hopeful expression. "Are you okay?"

Dean grinned, and nodded. "Yeah, I am." He stood up, as if to prove his point. "I'm fine, thanks to you. And you too," he added to Peter.

"Hey, nothing's thanks to me," he said, focusing on Sam so he would know exactly what he meant by that. But Sam was too busy staring down at his hands. 

"I don't feel different," he said. "Shouldn't I feel different now?"

"I don't know," Dean said, crouching down by Sam. "Maybe not." 

Sam glanced up and pulled Dean into a hug, and Peter couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy, and the desire to check on Nathan again as soon as possible. Glancing up, Sam finally caught Peter's eyes again. "So what's this idea of yours?"

"We need to go back to my apartment," Peter said. "I have something I need to show you guys."

+++++

Peter led Dean and Sam into his apartment, and immediately headed for the kitchen, to start searching through the small piles of paper that had accumulated on the table. He knew what he was looking for; now it was just a matter of finding it among the clutter. 

"So, are you going to tell us what you think is going on, or are we going to have to play guessing games?" Dean asked, leaning against the doorway as he and Sam watched Peter search. 

Peter glanced back for just a moment before tossing what he was holding aside, and sifting through another pile of documents. "The whole time we were on the road to get to that shapeshifter, I was thinking about what Sam told me about his abilities. You said the dreams first started with your girlfriend, right? Did anyone else's abilities start around the same time?"

"Yeah, they all started within a few months of each other," Sam said. "If you're looking for a pattern in the timeline, there isn't going to be one. And I'm telling you, I'm not going to fit in with you and your friends either."

"I think you might be wrong about that," Peter replied.

"Why? I'm not wrong. If it wasn't for the demon, I wouldn't have any abilities at all."

"How do you know?" Peter turned around to focus solely on Sam. "Is that what the demon told you?"

Sam squirmed, looking a little uncomfortable. "No. It's just that getting visited by the demon and then developing an ability is the only pattern I do fit."

"Okay, but what makes you so sure that the demon _gave_ you that ability?" Peter asked. "Is there any chance at all that you could have been born being able to have visions?"

The answer was clear on Dean's face as well as Sam's, and he only hesitated for a moment in response. "Maybe. I mean, I guess I don't really know for sure. Is that what you think?"

"I do, yeah." Peter smiled as he finally found what he was looking for, a small photograph buried among papers he'd taken from his mother's house when she was out of the country, and unable to catch him in the act. "Do you remember how I said some people's parents have powers?" Peter asked, and Sam nodded softly. "Well, there were a couple of them who formed a group, along with people who knew about their abilities. We still don't know much about what they tried to accomplish, but we do know who some of them were."

Peter handed the photograph to Sam, and watched for any sign of recognition on his face. Among the people Peter knew – Linderman, Kaito Nakamura, Charles Deveaux, and his mother – was a pretty blonde that Peter only recognized now from a picture in Sam's wallet.

"My mother?" Sam said, staring at the picture in shock.

Dean glared, shaking his head. "That can't be her. There's no way."

Peter carefully pulled the picture out of Sam's grasp, and turned it over. "Her name is on the back," he said. The figures were clearly labeled in his mother's sprawling cursive, along with the date, _June, 1980_.

"That's before I was even born," Sam said.

"No, it's not, because the picture is fake." Dean was getting more insistent by the second. "She wasn't part of some weird organization. Don't you think Dad would have known if she had some kind of ability?"

"He might not have," Peter said. 

"You have no idea what our mother was like," Dean said. "She would never have lied to our dad."

"No, but Dad might have lied to us," Sam said quietly. "After everything he never bothered to tell us, don't you think it's possible he could have decided we didn't need to know about something like this?"

"Oh, come on, Sam. Do you honestly think he would keep this from us?"

Sam reached over and took the picture from Peter, gazing at his mother's face again. "I don't really know what to think anymore."

"It would explain a lot, don't you think?" Peter said. "If your abilities work like the rest of ours, that explains why I'm able to copy them, and if your mother had an ability, that explains why you do too."

"How could I go this long without knowing that though?" Sam asked, still staring at the picture. "And if I already had an ability, then what the hell did the demon do to me?"

"The demon's blood linked you to him, right?" Dean said. "And to the others. That's why you could have visions about them?"

"That's been our theory, yeah."

Dean looked a lot more thoughtful all of a sudden. "What if the blood wasn't supposed to give you an ability? What if it was just supposed to make that connection that lets you all have each other's abilities? I mean, think about it. The demon wanted his one strongest soldier. Imagine if that person could do all the things you guys could do. They'd be unstoppable."

Sam paled, and leaned back against the wall beside. "God, I really don't want that to make as much sense as it does."

"We can make even more sense out of it, if you're willing," Peter said. He reached over to take Sam's hand, hoping the contact would help. "If Mohinder takes a look at a blood sample from you, he could find out all sorts of things that we probably haven't even thought of. If nothing else, he'll be able to tell if you're really one of us."

Sam glanced down, and gave Peter's hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away. "We can't."

"Why not?"

"Yeah, why not?" Dean added.

"Because we have work to do," Sam said, looking at Dean like he'd gone crazy. 

"Oh, screw the job, Sam. We're not the only hunters out there. Other people will pick up what we've left behind."

"I'm not just talking about the hunting, although I have to say, it's pretty crappy to make other hunters deal with the people who are possessed because of us," Sam said. "I've got less than four months to figure out how the hell to save you. We don't have time for me to stick around here and be some lab rat!"

"You wouldn't be a lab rat," Peter said. "That's not what I meant at all."

"That might not be what you meant, but it's what would happen, and I just can't do that right now." Sam handed the photograph back to Peter. "We've got to go."

"No, we don't," Dean said.

"It's okay," Peter said, looking down at the back of the picture in an effort to hide how much he was lying with that statement. "I didn't want to deal with Mohinder either, at first. And I know Dean has to come first."

Dean looked like he was going to argue again, but Sam cut him off. "Thank you. I'll give you a call later, okay?"

Peter just nodded, not believing that in the slightest until Sam leaned over and kissed him, long and slow. 

"I'll call, I promise." 

Peter didn't have a chance to say anything before Sam turned and left without another word. Dean sighed, and Peter almost missed him murmuring, "I'm sorry," before he followed Sam out.

+++++

Peter hadn't expected Sam to call, but he realized he'd underestimated Sam's honesty when, a few days later, his phone rang, and Sam was on the other end of the line, asking him to come to the motel.

He was surprised to see Sam standing outside of the motel room, waiting for him when he pulled up, and Peter felt the knot in his stomach loosen a bit when Sam smiled, and looked genuinely happy to see him. Peter pulled up into the parking spot next to the Impala and got out of the car, walking up to meet Sam at the door. "Hey."

"Hey," Sam replied. "I'm glad you came."

"Of course I came. You didn't think I was going to let you leave town without saying goodbye, did you?" Peter smiled weakly. "This is goodbye, right?"

"Yeah," Sam said, sounding reluctant in the admittance. "Dean's paying our bill, and then we'll be on our way."

"Where are you headed?"

"Columbus. There's been some stories about a haunted house that people think might actually be haunted, so..." Sam trailed off, and looked down. "I wanted to apologize."

"For what?" Peter asked. 

"For freaking out at you about that photograph," Sam replied. "I thought we had everything figured out, and now I'm wondering if we got anything right at all. I shouldn't have gotten upset, and I shouldn't have just left, and I'm sorry."

Peter sighed. He took a chance, moving forward to put his hands on Sam's hips, and when Sam didn't pull away, he smiled. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have thrown all of that at you so fast. I just thought if you were one of us, that maybe you'd want to stay."

"I do want to stay," Sam said, draping his hands over Peter's shoulders. "I want to stay so badly. But I can't, not right now."

"I know," Peter admitted.

"And I know that you know," Sam said, cracking a smile. "You understand why I have to save Dean. Which reminds me, have you tried healing again, with Nathan?"

"Yeah. It's working." Peter didn't even try to hide how excited that made him, knowing Sam would understand. "It's going sort of slow. I can only do so much at a time, you know? But he's getting better every day, and I have you to thank for that."

"I didn't do anything. It's all you."

"I guess that means keeping Dean safe is going to be all you too," Peter said. "You are going to keep in touch, aren't you? I want to know you guys are safe, and I don't want to have to stalk you by map or painting for my info."

Sam laughed. "I'll keep in touch, I promise. I want to know how you and Nathan are doing too. And I think Dean might appreciate updates on Claire."

Peter slid the tips of his fingers under Sam's shirt. "And when Dean is safe? Will you come back?"

"If you still want me to," Sam said. "A lot could happen in the next four months."

"I'll still want you to. I don't think much could happen to change that."

Sam grinned, and leaned down for a kiss, and Peter made sure that he didn't pull away until Sam did, wanting to give him everything he could while he still had the chance.

"There's one more thing I want to ask you to do while you're gone," Peter said.

Sam rested his forehead against Peter's, his eyes closed in a look of contentment. "What's that?"

"I want you to work on controlling your abilities. As many of them as you can."

Sam sighed, pulling back just a little. "Peter--"

"No, hear me out," Peter interrupted. "I know you're worried about what could happen, and I get that, believe me. If nothing else, maybe you could work on controlling your visions. That's _your_ power, and you should learn how to use it. You said you were jealous of my control, but you don't have to be."

"I know," Sam said.

"I'm serious about this."

"So am I. That's why I already started practicing."

Peter stared up at Sam. "You did?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah, I started the day after I left your apartment."

"And you let me ramble at you anyway because...?"

"You were on a roll. I didn't want to stop you." Sam practically beamed at Peter, laughing again as Peter punched him in the arm. "Do you want to see what I've managed so far?"

"Of course," Peter replied. 

"Don't tell Dean, okay? He'd kill me if he knew this is what I've been practicing with." Sam turned to face the Impala, and Peter turned with him, watching as all of Sam's focus narrowed to the car. All of a sudden, both the driver's side door and the passenger's side door flew open, stopping just short of hitting the cars next to them. When Sam blinked, the doors slammed shut in unison, and locked. 

"Wow," Peter said, staring at the car. "That's amazing."

"It's not that amazing," Sam said, but Peter cut him off by grabbing his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. 

"It is amazing," he said. "Don't try to tell yourself that the things you can do aren't remarkable, because they are."

Sam laughed, putting his arms around Peter and pulling him close enough that Peter could feel the heat of his body before he leaned down and kissed him again. "I'm going to miss you," he murmured.

"I'm going to miss you too. But only until you come back. 

"I'm telling you right now, if you get yourself killed in a non-healable way, I'll come back early and kick your ass."

Peter laughed. "I'll be fine. I'd hate to distract you."

"You wouldn't distract me," Sam promised. This time, when he kissed Peter, it was deeper, and longer - more clearly a goodbye kiss, and Peter had no intention of letting Sam go until he heard someone clear their throat beside them.

"Are you two going to do that all afternoon?" Dean asked, grinning in spite of the comment. "I'd like to get to Ohio before the end of the week."

Sam responded by wrapping his arms tighter around Peter and flicking Dean off, before finally pulling away. "I guess I'd better go."

"Yeah," Peter said, finally dropping his hands from Sam's body. "Be careful, both of you."

"We're always careful," Dean insisted with a smirk. Then he pulled on the driver's side handle of the Impala, and nearly stumbled backwards. "Dude, why the hell are the doors locked?"

Peter wasn't sure whether he or Sam laughed harder, but he did know one thing. It was going to be a very long four months.

End.


End file.
